A Crack in the Looking Glass
by Drovenich
Summary: England accidentally sends Germany to a parallel world. A world ruled by Russia with a iron fist. GerIta and Russia x Italy brothers.
1. A Green Apple

**Dro:** Another story. I'm on a roll, though three at a time is my limit. I had this idea and couldn't get it out of my head, especially when the image of Russia and the Italy brothers got stuck there. Anyway, parallel world story! Poor Germany.

**Chapter Summary:** England accidentally sends Germany to a parallel world ruled by Russia with an iron fist.

**Warnings:** None yet unless you count some war-torn London imagery

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own APH. =(

* * *

"What did you do?" Alfred coughed, the smoke starting to clear. He had rushed upstairs after hearing the explosion to find Arthur on the floor and Francis hanging out the window. He shook Arthur vigorously, trying to wake him up.

Arthur groaned. "Was trying to send an object to another dimension." He blinked the soot out of his eyes. "It didn't go so well."

Alfred wanted to hit him. "Are you still going on about that magic shit? Come on, Artie, really? Can't you just leave it alone before you blow up the planet?"

"I'm not going to blow up the Earth, you git! I'm practicing serious magic here." He glared. "Not that I expect you to be able to understand something so complex." He yelped as Alfred bonked him on the head. "What was that for?"

Alfred's eye twitched. "You are such an idiot sometimes."

A stifled moan alerted them to the fact that Francis was still halfway out the window. They jumped up and pulled him back in. Francis stumbled, trying to get his bearings. "_Mon Dieu, Angleterre!_ That had to be your worst attempt yet."

Arthur grumbled.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Well, since you've destroyed this room, why don't we go back downstairs? I'm making hamburgers!"

The other two groaned in annoyance but followed him anyway. Francis chastised Arthur on the way down the steps for ruining his clothing. Arthur just ignored him, wondering what went wrong. The object in question, an apple, was gone. But he wasn't sure whether it had just blown up, or…perhaps it had actually gone somewhere?

They sat down at the kitchen table, Francis frantically trying to get the soot off his cloak, and let Alfred serve them lunch. Arthur munched on the hamburger silently, ignoring Alfred's gleaming eyes as he repeatedly asked whether the two of them liked his food or not.

"Meh, it is okay, _Amerique_. I still prefer my lovely French cuisine however. Nothing will every top that."

"Tch!" Alfred scoffed. "Hamburgers are way better! Especially hamburgers from Mc—"

A loud knocking on the door startled them. Alfred hopped up and bolted to the door, ready to invite someone else to eat hamburgers. He heaved it open to reveal a panicking Italy and an annoyed Romano.

"Oh! Hey, you guys!" _Wasn't expecting to see them._ After the meeting, he remembered, Italy had been animatedly begging Germany to take him to lunch. Of course, Alfred didn't know why anyone would want to _go out_ to lunch in London. It was English food, for God's sakes! Poison, basically.

"America!" Italy cried out. Alfred realized he was on the verge of tears. Genuine tears. Not the cowardly surrender tears he used when someone attacked him. "Ludwig vanished in a puff of a smoke! Help!"

Wait…what?

"Huh?"

Italy started bawling, and Romano groaned. "The potato bastard vanished, you dumb American! And we think the Brit boy might have something to do with it." He nodded to Francis and Arthur, who had appeared in the doorway.

Arthur was taken aback. "What makes you think I did it?"

"Because it's always your fault!" Romano rolled his eyes.

"Hey, it is not!"

"It is when it involves magic!"

Arthur tried to make a comeback, but he couldn't come up with one. "Okay, so, sometimes I mess up spells. That doesn't mean I made Germany disappear."

Romano narrowed his eyes. "He disappeared in a puff of smoke! And in his place was an apple!"

The silence fell over them like a heavy blanket. Francis and Alfred glued their eyes to Arthur, who couldn't think coherently.

"Oh…so that's where it went."

"And where did Germany go?" Alfred asked.

Arthur thought of his spell: sending something to another dimension. "Oh…shit."

"Bring him back! Bring him back!" Italy roughly shook his shoulders. Arthur stared at him blankly, and Italy paled. "Where'd you send him?"

"I'm not…entirely sure, actually. I was just trying to send something to like…a parallel dimension. Don't know how I made Germany disappear. I was working on the apple!"

"A parallel dimension?" Romano stared at him incredulously. "Tell me you're not serious."

Arthur felt the pressure begin to crush him. "Unfortunately, I am."

"You sent Germany to another dimension?" Alfred looked at him, wide-eyed. "That's…Awesome!"

The five of them broke out into an argument, each one screaming different things at Arthur. Italy's terrified tears stained his coat as the man clung to him. Alfred shook his shoulders, asking him if he'd send _him_ to another dimension. Francis was shaking his head and yelling in French, and Romano was just yelling swear words at him.

_God help me._

_

* * *

_

Something was choking his lungs. He coughed, hacking up dirt and soot and debris. Heavy lids opened to reveal a bare sun, its light blinding him. He rolled over to find himself laying on a huge pile of debris. A destroyed house. He'd been sleeping on a destroyed wall, the beams of the house sticking up in direction where they'd been snapped.

Ludwig blinked, unable to comprehend what was happening. Where was he? He stood up and looked around, the nervous tension in his stomach growing as he realized…the entire city was in ruins. Which city, he didn't know. But wherever he was had faced heavy bombing. There wasn't a single building left standing completely. A few walls jutted up from the ruins, empty shells standing where life had once existed.

"Where…?" The last he remembered was walking into a pub with Italy. "How did I get here? Where is here?" It looked similar to London, but without any of the landmarks he was familiar with, it was hard to…he spotted it off in the distance, a symbol of the true devastation of it all: the London Eye. It stood out from the horizon as a damaged beacon of a once proud city, rising up over the Thames.

He _was_ in London. Alarm ran through his muscles. London was gone. He ran down the debris and into the empty road. London had been destroyed. London had been bombed to the ground! When? Where? Why? Who? A million questions ran through his mind. How could this have happened? And where had he been? There was no way he'd survived the bombing like that, splayed out on a destroyed wall. He couldn't have been there the whole time.

And where were the people? If London had been bombed this badly, they surely would've evacuated, but still…Ludwig realized this destruction wasn't new. Vines and plants were creeping up buildings, nature taking over what man had once created. _This is impossible_. _If it was bombed a while ago, then how am I here? How did I even get here to begin with? And where is everyone? They would've reclaimed London after the bombing, right? They wouldn't have just left it to rot._

"What is going on?" He whispered to no one.

With no other choice, he started walking, hoping he'd eventually run into someone or something that could help him. He maneuvered around overturned vehicles, treaded carefully over broken glass, and ducked under fallen light poles. After an hour, he felt like giving up. Not to mention he was starting to get freaked out. The dead silence was unnerving.

He felt something move under his feet. He pulled back, realizing it was a newspaper, and he swooped down and picked it up. It was dated for a few months prior. He glanced at the headline. Shock overtook him, and he leaned back into the frame of a building for support. His hands shook as he tried to process the news. _That's impossible. That never happened. That was months ago. I was there. Everything was fine then._ He tried to rationalize, but he couldn't deny what was right in front of him.

_US Surrenders to USSR After Nuclear Bombing_

Nuclear war. Had that been what destroyed London? Fear consumed him as he realized that if London had been hit by a nuclear warhead then he was in danger of radiation poisoning. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to piece together what was happening. The Soviet Union had been dissolved years ago, so how…? And America? How the hell could that bastard Russia defeat America? How—?

"Put your hands up. Now."

He whipped around, coming face to face with a man armed with a rifle. A rifle pointed at him. "Whoa! Calm down! I'm not an enemy."

"That has yet to be seen." The man wore what looked like a riot police helmet, and he was dressed accordingly. "Name please."

"Uh…um, Ludwig."

"And where are you from, _Ludwig_? And while you're answering that, you can tell me why you're wandering around London all by yourself. Kind of suspicious, you know?"

Ludwig couldn't help but he feel he recognized the voice behind the helmet. "I'm from Germany. I…I was in London for…a meeting, and then I woke up and it was destroyed."

"What are you talking about? London was destroyed months ago by Russian bombers."

Ludwig let out a breath, happy to know London hadn't been destroyed by a nuclear bomb. "I…I don't know. I just woke up here earlier. The last thing I remember was having lunch with a friend at a pub."

"So you're claiming amnesia, are you?"

"Um, I…I really don't know." Ludwig was exasperated, and he was frustrated he couldn't place the voice.

Suddenly, the man lowered his gun and sighed. "I should probably shoot you because I know there's no way you can be alive. But, I just can't do it." He removed his helmet, revealing a head of blond hair.

"Vash?"

The Swiss man frowned at him, sighing again. "Hello, Ludwig. It's been a while, especially considering you've been dead for six months."

"I…what?"

"You died in the Berlin bombing after Germany retaliated, remember? So, want to tell me how you ended up here, alive and well? Or are you going to stick to your 'amnesia' excuse?"

Ludwig gaped. "I died?"

Vash nodded. "We have your body, Ludwig. And yet, here you are. I couldn't believe my eyes at first. I was sure I was going crazy. But, it's you. No mistaking it. I can sense it's Germany standing right in front of me, and I can't deny that."

They knew what the other was. They always knew. And Germany berated himself for not realizing it was Switzerland earlier. He was so used to being around other countries, he'd blocked out that special sensation.

"Look, Vash. I really have no idea what's going on. As far I'm concerned, I was in a pub with Feliciano and Romano a few hours ago, munching on some nasty 'fish and chips.'" He noticed Vash stiffen at the mention of the Italy brothers, and he made a note of that. "We were at a world meeting, discussing _Global Warming_. How did all this happen? How did the Soviet Union get back together?"

"Get back together? You say that like it dissolved, Ludwig."

Ludwig stuttered. "I—It did. In 1991."

Vash shook his head. "No. No, it didn't. 1991 was the year that the rest of Germany was given up to the USSR. That you were given up because of Russia's threats."

"You gave me to Russia?"

"We didn't have a choice at the time. And then, of course, appeasement failed, like it always does. Russia started asking for more, and we refused him for years. And then…then he started the war. And the entire world fell apart." Vash's eyes dulled slightly, as if he'd lost something. He looked back up at Ludwig. "Why don't you remember any of this?"

"Because that never happened." Ludwig was starting to doubt himself. He knew for a fact he'd never been under Russia's control. He knew for a fact the Soviet Union had dissolved. He knew for a fact there hadn't been any sort of third World War. So how the hell was all this happening?

Vash stared at him worriedly. "This is really strange. I'm starting to wonder if you're our Germany at all. Come back to our base with me. I have a few questions I need to ask Arthur."

"Arthur? England is all right?"

Vash bit his lip. "'All right' is not exactly the term I'd use. But he's alive and kicking, and he's not planning on stopping any time soon." Ludwig realized Vash was anxiously staring at the sky. "We should get back. They scout three times a day."

Ludwig wasn't sure he wanted to know who _they_ were.

Ludwig was impressed. The…resistance, he guessed, had an extensive underground base. It was a military facility, sure, but it looked a little more homey than bases he was used to. Civilians and military personnel alike lived here, and Vash had told him that everyone contributed. This base was one of seventeen spread across Europe, all united for the sole purpose of taking down the now massive Soviet Union.

_It was big before…_Ludwig had thought when Vash had told him that. But now…Now it encompassed America, China, all the Eastern European countries…Italy…Ludwig shuddered at the thought of Italy being under Russia's control. Vash had seemed sensitive about speaking of Italy, and Ludwig wondered exactly why that was. _He's dead, isn't he?_ Ludwig wanted to ask. He was almost sure of it, sure that…Feliciano had been killed. A pang assaulted his heart. _Feliciano…_

He tapped his fingers on his pants legs nervously. Vash was explaining to the other nations present about him. He didn't know who was here, though he was sure he was about to find out. The door to the meeting room opened, and Vash beckoned him inside. He walked in slowly, coming face to face with Arthur, Francis, Antonio, and…

"Gilbert?"

Gilbert rose, a haunted look in his eyes. "_Mein Gott_. It is you, West." The next thing he knew, his brother was hugging him tightly. "It's been so long, so long since I've seen you alive." He pulled back. "How? How are you alive?"

"Arthur has a theory, actually." Vash said.

Arthur, eying Ludwig warily, started speaking. "We're thinking you may be some sort of temporal anomaly. Perhaps from another dimension."

Gilbert looked at him, not quite comprehending. "What now?"

Francis rolled his eyes. "We think he might be from a parallel world."

Gilbert looked back to him in confusion. "Are you?"

Ludwig wasn't sure what to say. "I…I don't…The last thing I remember is eating lunch with Feliciano and Romano. Then I woke up here. So…maybe it is possible." It was the strangest thing he'd ever heard. A parallel world? How was that even possible? Sure, he knew there were theories about it…He broke his line of thought when he saw how uncomfortable everyone in the room looked. Right after he mention the Italy brothers. "Okay, I'm confused, not blind. Will someone tell me why you all keep cringing whenever I mention Italy and Romano? Are they dead?"

Arthur swallowed nervously, his eyes meeting Vash's, who nodded. "Um, Germany…Ludwig." Ludwig perked up, tension suddenly running through him at England's tone. "The Italy brothers aren't dead."

"Then what's wrong with them?"

"It's just…it's just that…"

Vash sighed. "The Italy brothers aren't dead, Ludwig. They work for Russia."

"You mean, he forces them like Lithuania and…?"

"No, I mean that the Italy brothers are Russia's top assassins."

* * *

**Dro:** Italy and Romano as top notch assassins...what an image that is. **Remember guys, reviews encourage me to write more!**

**Next Chapter:** Germany freaks out, the original world Arthur tries to figure out a way to bring Germany back, and we get a glimpse at parallel world Italy and Romano's lives with Russia.


	2. A Gray Evening

**Dro:** Hey, look! Your Christmas present from Dro is a new chapter! Enjoy it!

**Chapter Summary:** Ludwig meets up with an old friend, Arthur is frustrated at his failed attempts at figuring out what went wrong, and we get a glimpse into the daily life of the Italy brothers.

**Warnings:** Implied sex

**Disclaimer:** Can I just say go look at Chapter 1? Seriously? I obviously don't own APH.

* * *

Ludwig stared out the window as the rain came down. It washed away trash and dirt and shattered dreams, emptying them into a long forgotten sewer system still flowing beneath the city. His mind was still reeling from what Arthur and the others had told him. Feliciano was…an assassin for Russia and had been for decades. Somehow, some way, in this Gott-forsaken parallel world, the Italy brothers had grown up as Russia's closest allies. The way Vash had described them had chilled Ludwig to the bone.

Ruthless. Cunning. Intelligent. Cold. Calculating...Killers. According to Francis, their prime goal now was to snuff out every remaining nation. They'd taken out most of the "small game" already, including the majority of the African countries and most of those in South America. They'd even taken down Sadik and Gupta a few months ago. Their hit list was a mile long and their list of successful kills even longer. Russia was using them to narrow down his list of enemies while he stood on the sidelines managing his growing empire.

Just the thought of Feliciano killing another person sent chills through his body. _His_ Feliciano couldn't even shoot a gun properly, much less actually use one to take a life. This Feliciano sounded like a completely different person, and Ludwig's breath caught at the idea of coming face to face with Feliciano wearing the mask of a cold-blooded murderer.

A knock on the door distracted him from his concentration on the pouring rain. He looked up to see someone he hadn't been expecting. "Kiku?"

Japan stood in the doorway, his typical indifferent façade broken and replaced with extreme shock. "L…Ludwig." He whispered. "I can't believe it."

Ludwig rose, a smile gracing his face. "It's been a while." In his own world, he hadn't seen Japan for nearly a year. They'd all been caught up in world financial troubles, and even meetings were becoming slightly informal. Old friends rarely had time to chat, and Japan had missed the last two world meetings.

"It has." They were of course talking about two different things, but that didn't really matter at this point. They gave each other a light, one-armed embrace, both preserving their reservations about showing intimate emotion. But the friendship between them was clear. The fact that Ludwig wasn't even from this world was a moot point.

They chatted for over an hour, Kiku much more open than Ludwig remembered him. Granted, this was a different Kiku. Japan had been bombarded by Chinese forces for years now, Yao having willingly joined Russia long ago. In the wake of the constant decimation falling upon his country, Kiku had opened up to his friends more, allowing himself to fall back on them in his time of need. And thanks to the combined efforts of many countries, Japan still stood.

Eventually, Kiku asked Ludwig about his own world, and he listened, enamored, to Ludwig's winding tale of various US wars in Asia and the Middle East and finally, the Financial Crisis that almost crippled the world. When he finished, he noticed the rueful smile on Kiku's face. He'd seen that same look on the face of the others who'd heard his version of the world. Bitterness about the world that could've been.

Vash knocked on the door around dinnertime, telling them the food was ready. They had surprisingly decent food for being in such a terrible state, and they ate in peace, countries making small talk in a situation that was almost oddly normal in a time so morbid. Ludwig finally got a look at the entire list of nations that were present at the base. Besides those he'd run into already prior to dinner, Elizaveta was also present. She'd told him that Roderich had also been there a few days prior but was now out on a mission to retrieve some important intelligence about a supply vessel that they desperately needed to capture.

Ludwig found it odd thinking about Roderich working in the espionage ring. The snooty aristocrat image that Ludwig had of the man didn't fit his idea of the typical spy. But then again, different world, different person. Despite the same faces and for the most part, the same personalities, they were still slightly different people. He supposed that applied to Roderich as well.

After dinner, everyone departed, and Ludwig talked with Arthur more about his theory about the parallel worlds. After much debate, Arthur and Francis had settled on the only _logical_ possibility of how Ludwig had ended up where he had.

"Magic. Has to be."

"Magic…" Ludwig stared at him, waiting for the punch line.

Arthur's eyebrows twitched irately. "I'm not kidding, Ludwig. I honestly think you were sent here by magic. Which is good."

Ludwig decided to suspend his adamant disbelief of magic for a few moments. "Okay, so, let's say it _is_ magic that brought me here. How is that good again?"

"Because if you brought here by magic, then we can send you home. If you were brought here by a wormhole or some kind of other purely scientific anomaly, then we'd have to work day and night with the brightest scientists in the world to try and find a way to replicate those exact conditions to send you back. It would be near impossible. But when magic is used, things become connected. If I was able to create or find a working spell designed to send you to a parallel universe, then it would probably connect itself to the mark left by the original spell, which _should_, in theory, connect back to your original world, making sure you get sent back there."

"In theory?"

"It'll take some work though. A lot of my magic books were destroyed when London was bombed. I'll have to scrounge around first. Don't worry though. It might take me a while, but I'm sure I can do this. I _will_ get you home."

Ludwig frowned. "You don't want me here, do you?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "It's not like that. It's just…it hurts seeing you. Whether they look happy or not Ludwig, it hurts everyone to see you. We lost our Germany, and despite the fact that you look and act like him, the truth still stands: you _aren't_ him. And that hurts."

Ludwig bit his lip, guilt consuming him. He hadn't considered that. _Idiot, you should've realized!_ "I'm sorry."

Arthur shook his head. "It's not your fault. And no one blames you. So stop with the guilt. It's unbecoming of you." He swiveled around in his chair. "In addition to the pain factor, it stands to reason that the people in your world will be missing you. I think we can say that they've probably noticed your absence by this point. We need to get you back. And soon. Russia's war against us isn't going to magically end while you're staying with us. You are in very real danger of dying right along with the rest of us."

Ludwig absorbed all of Arthur's information slowly, trying to process just what the man was telling him. Every second he was here was a second he wasn't home. Every second he was here was a second he could be killed in a nuclear air strike. Every second he was here was a second he wasn't protecting Feliciano. Which meant every single second from this point on mattered.

* * *

Arthur wasn't making any headway. He'd been looking over his spell for ages, trying to figure out what had gone wrong and how to fix it. Feliciano's sobbing wasn't helping either. He could hear the boy all the way upstairs, bawling in his fear that Ludwig would be gone forever. The guilt just made it that much harder to concentrate. Who knew where he had sent Germany? Who knew if the man was even still alive? What if Arthur had sent him somewhere without oxygen? Or a place with strange vicious alien creatures? Arthur shuddered, wondering just what he'd gotten himself into.

Alfred knocked on the doorframe as he entered, startling him. "What do you want, Alfred?"

"Wanted to check on you." Alfred's typical idiot attitude was suppressed, the way it usually became when someone he cared about was hurting.

"I'm fine. Just…not making much progress." He sighed, tossing his pencil down on the table in defeat.

"You will. Just give it time. Magic is hard, right?" Alfred tried to console him. He knew Arthur blamed himself, and while it _was_ technically his fault, Alfred didn't want him to feel the pressure like that. "I'm sure you'll get it eventually."

Arthur opened his mouth to voice his concerns, but Alfred cut him off. "And I'm sure Germany is fine too. You sent him to a parallel world, right?"

"Something like that, I guess."

"Well, if it's parallel, then shouldn't it be the same but slightly different? So, he should be just fine. I mean, that's the way it works in sci-fi, right?"

"Usually, but that's fiction, and this is reality." He gripped his pants legs. "Plus, in all those parallel world stories I've ever seen, isn't there usually something wrong with the parallel world? Something dangerous? Something deadly?"

Alfred bit down on his tongue before answering. "Yeah, there is."

* * *

Ivan awoke to bright sunlight filtering in through his sheer curtains. The day was young yet, and he went over a mental list of things he needed to do today. He had a meeting with Yao later in the day, the usual load of paperwork, a debriefing by one of his generals returning from Western Europe…A soft sigh interrupted his thoughts. He wrapped his arms tighter around the two forms on either side of him, still staring at his ceiling thoughtfully.

A pair of soft lips landed on his neck, caressing the skin with a few light kisses. On his opposite side, a hand slid down his chest, tracing hard muscles. He finally flicked his gaze downward. On his left side was Feliciano, snuggled into his neck and smiling up at him with false innocence swimming in his brown eyes. On his right side was Lovino, green eyes holding the same gaze, lips curled up at the same exact angle.

"Morning, boys."

Their lips moved in tandem. "_Morning, Ivan_."

He released their waists from his grasp, and they slid out of bed, slipping on identical robes to cover their bodies. He eyed them with interest as they picked up their discarded clothing, not bothering to move from his spot. Feliciano tucked his clothing under his arm and turned to look at him.

"Busy day, Ivan?"

"Da. Unfortunately." He sighed.

"If it's hassle, you can just postpone." Lovino added. "You are, after all, the boss."

Ivan smirked. "So I am."

Lovino caught up to Feliciano at the door, and they turned and winked at him together. "_See you later, Ivan._"

He waved as they closed the door behind them. _My perfect little killers._ He smiled. Then his phone rang. He frowned. Morning phone calls were _always _about some sort of issue.

Feliciano tossed his dirty clothes in the bin and wrenched his closet door open, looking over his weapons carefully. _What to wear today?_ He picked his favorite assortment of knives and chose his outfit accordingly. The uniform with the long coat. He tossed it on his bed, followed by his boots and hat, just as Lovino emerged from the bathroom.

"Your turn."

Feliciano nodded and moved past his brother wordlessly. Lovino looked over at Feliciano's clothing choice for the day. _Always a good choice there._ He plucked the same outfit from his closet. And the same knife set, of course. He turned on the TV and started to towel off his still damp hair as the woman on the news started to speak.

"Earlier this morning," she began in Russian, "a group of terrorists attacked a freight train carrying supplies to the European front. It is believed to be another attack by the rebelling countries' guerilla forces. Twenty-four Russian Federation soldiers were killed in the raid, as well as sixteen of the terrorists. More information on the incident is expected to come in within the next hour."

"Always the same news, eh _fratello_?"

Lovino turned to see Feliciano leaning on the bathroom doorway, beads of water still running down his chest.

"Always."

The pair of them finished drying off and got to work getting dressed. They grabbed the same holsters, the same sheaths, wrapping them tightly around their arms and chest and clipping them in place. Knives slid into their places, ready to be drawn at the swiftest notice. For good measure, they both added two handguns, sliding them into the holsters strapped next to their ribs. The coats went on then, concealing everything with careful design. They adjusted their cuffs, their ties, their belts, and looked over themselves in the mirrors. Then they turned to face each other. They both raised a hand and shifted each other's hats slightly before smiling.

"_Perfect._"

Just as they were about to head downstairs for breakfast, Lovino's phone rang. He pulled it from his coat pocket and pressed the speaker phone button, holding it between him and Feliciano.

"_Italy_." They answered.

The man on the other end spoke quickly, and Feliciano grabbed a piece of paper and rapidly scrawled the key words down. When the man was done, he hung up without another word, obviously afraid of being discovered. Lovino held the phone in the air a few seconds longer, his excited eyes meeting his brother's. He landed in his computer chair and turned the machine on, looking up all the information for their new location: Bucharest, Romania.

He zoomed in on his map, finding the exact location they'd been told about. He glanced at Feliciano, who was marking their new target with updated information. It'd been six months since they'd gotten such a great opportunity for one of their top ten. He printed out the map of the area they needed to memorize and walked up to their board, pinning it next to their target's picture. Feliciano had written the date and time down and stuck it under the picture of the man's frowning face.

For the next fifteen minutes, they planned out the exact schedule of events, from the man's meeting with his informant to the exact location—down to two feet—where they would take him down once and for all. Unfortunately for this man, he wasn't a target Ivan cared for. Occasionally, they caught up to one that Ivan wanted captured instead of killed. Not this time.

Feliciano brushed his thumb against the man's picture. "It's been a long time since we've seen him, hasn't it?"

"It has. And now it'll be the last time." Lovino answered, spinning his favorite knife around in his fingers as he plopped his feet onto the desk.

Feliciano shook his head. "Idiots, the lot of them."

"I know, right? You would think when faced with someone like Ivan that they'd be a bit smarter than to just oppose him openly and form a resistance. Fools!" He threw his knife at the board, the blade sinking right into the middle of the man's face.

"Is that what you're planning to do to him?" Feliciano grinned.

Lovino barked out a laugh. "Nah, too messy."

Feliciano pulled the knife from the wall and tossed it back to his brother. "Let's go to breakfast, _fratello_."

Lovino hopped up and led the way out the door. Feliciano turned as he grabbed the door handle, glancing back at the slit picture one last time. He raised his free hand and blew a kiss to the picture, a smile gracing his face. "See you soon, Roderich."

* * *

**Dro:** I loved writing that last part. I'm not gonna lie, evil assassin Italy brothers just make my day.

**Next Chapter:** The Italy brothers converge on Austria to take him out as Ivan hears some rather interesting news about a certain nation. Meanwhile, both Arthurs make headway on getting Germany home.


	3. A Red Dusk

**Dro:** I wasn't expecting this chapter to be so long, but somehow I fit in a butt load stuff. Anyway, enjoy!

**Chapter Summary:** The Italy brothers take on Austria. Both Arthurs work on getting Germany back. And a very interesting person meets with Russia, spilling the secret about Germany.

**Warnings:** Language, Violence

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own APH and never will.

* * *

Roderich shoved the paper in his pocket as he sipped on his drink. Bucharest had become a very dangerous place in the last few years, and he was eager to get out of here. Waltzing into Soviet territory wasn't usually a smart move seeing as Russia had spies on every corner, but he hadn't really had a choice in the matter. If he wanted the information from the informant, he had to work on the man's terms.

They'd met up at a bar, pretending to be old friends, and the man had produced a sheet of paper listing everything they needed to know to take down the supply freighter. Last winter, they'd almost run out of supplies, their fields burned to the ground by bombers. They couldn't risk that same situation this year, not with Russia putting the pressure on them like he was. He'd been noticeably more aggressive in the last few months, as he if was finally tiring of the _game_ they'd been playing for the last decade.

Roderich shook the man's hand as he stood up, noticing the nervousness on his face. Most of his informants looked similar, but there was something about this man that didn't feel right. He'd make sure to double check the information before giving it to Arthur as fact. He slipped his coat back on and buttoned it up. He started for the front door, stopping cold as he saw someone he hadn't been expecting. Estonia sat at a table near the door, sending an icy glare right at Roderich. _Shit!_

He backed up, making his way for the door that led to the alley out back. _Why is Eduard here?_ He had no fear of the Estonian himself, as Eduard had made it very clear he wasn't truly on Russia's side. It was who might be _with_ Eduard that worried him. The man often had an escort in Russia's inner circle; Russia's distrust of the silently rebellious Baltic states was obvious.

He wound around the gyrating crowd, pushing past the people hanging out around the back door. He forced the heavy metal door open and stepped out into the chilly alleyway, taking a deep breath. _I've been compromised. I know it_. There was always the risk he would be. He thought of his informant. The man could've easily been a plant designed to draw him out. He'd checked his references, who'd said the man was legit, but that meant nothing when it came to the craftiness of Russia's best spies.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to exit the alley. He had planned on leaving tomorrow, but he could push up his departure, and with Eduard's presence in mind, that was probably a good idea. He'd only taken three steps when a sound stopped him dead in his tracks. He looked up, a dark figure waiting at the end of the alley. The figure stepped toward him, illuminated by the dim light next to the bar door. Roderich's heart seized up at the sight of him.

Romano.

_They found me. God damn it!_ He knew who would be behind him before he even turned around. Feliciano was on the opposite side of the alley. Roderich swallowed. Eduard's presence at the door had been a trap to lead him straight to the alley, a place he could be easily caught. How he could he be so stupid?

"Hello, Roderich." Feliciano spoke.

Roderich glared at him, trying to maintain his composure. It was hard. Knowing he was about to die made it difficult for him to even keep standing. He flicked his eyes back and forth between the brothers, remembering a time when they were just innocent children. But that time was long past. They'd turned from him when they were teenagers, somehow becoming involved with Russia. And somehow, that had led to this…to them becoming cold-blooded killers, little murderers that acted at Russia's command.

Anger sparked in his chest. He reached inside coat, bringing out his gun. It wouldn't do him much good, but if he could get a shot into one of the boys, then maybe he'd at least get some retribution for the pain they'd caused.

"Really now?" Romano raised an eyebrow, a knife slipping from his coat sleeve into his hand. "You know that's not going to do much good."

Feliciano mimicked his brother. He watched the brothers as they tensed up for a brief moment then took off, running at him full speed. With a second of hesitation, Roderich aimed the gun at Feliciano, shooting off three shots. None of them made contact. He whipped around just as Romano made it to him, sinking the knife blade into his chest.

Pain shot through him, and he let out a cry as second blade dug into his back. Feliciano's arm wrapped around his neck, holding him up.

"Sorry, Roderich. Nothing personal, but you're kind of in the way." Feliciano whispered in his ear.

Copper filled Roderich's mouth, blood dripping down his chin. His vision started fading. _I failed you. All of you_. He thought of Ludwig, who he'd left to Feliciano's mercy, of Gilbert, who was still suffering from his brother's death. He thought of Elizaveta, who he'd promised he'd remarry after all of this was over. He thought of Arthur and Francis and Antonio, who desperately needed the information he had. Then he looked down at Romano, who stared at him with indifference. The boys he'd known and loved as children had been destroyed by Russia. And he'd let it happen without batting an eyelash until it was far too late. _You two…I failed you most of all._

Feliciano felt Roderich's body become dead weight. The brothers made eye contact, pulling out their knives simultaneously. Feliciano let the man's body go, watching as it hit the ground with a dull thud.

"Well, that was easy."

Romano nodded. "I expected him to put up more of a fight than that. I'm kind of disappointed."

Feliciano shrugged. "He knew he couldn't beat us no matter what, so I guess he just figured it was pointless to try."

"That's boring." Romano huffed. He turned to leave, stopping as he realized Feliciano wasn't following him. He watched as his brother dug around in Austria's coat. "What're you doing?" He understood immediately when his brother pulled out a carefully concealed piece of paper. "Ah, good idea."

Feliciano pulled out a lighter and flicked it on, watching as the piece of paper burned in his hands. He let the remains fall, the crumpled black fragment left being extinguished as it hit the damp alley ground. "Just in case." He mused.

* * *

Arthur tapped his fingers impatiently. He'd been working on this damn spell for six hours already. He'd spent the last two days recovering as much of his magic books as he could, and then there'd been an emergency in Spain involving Russian submarines, and he'd been forced to fly there and back again over the course of the day. Now here he was again, pouring all his energy into finding the right spell. He'd found a few that sounded promising, but they were fragments. Incomplete spells would be his last resort. He'd have to improvise and create an entirely new spell, which could prove unstable.

Unfortunately, that looked to be where this was heading. He hadn't found anything else so far that even indicated inter-dimensional travel. He sighed. He needed to get Germany back to his own world. Everything was compounding now. Russia's massive military was bearing down on them now on the Eastern Front, and cities were constantly being bombed. Had there been anything left of London, he had no doubt they'd be here too.

And now he had parallel worlds to worry about! He wondered every half hour or so why he was even bothering. It wasn't _his_ fault Germany was here. So why should it be his responsibility to send him home? Then he would rationalize with himself. He was the only person with the skills and knowledge to send Germany home. On top of that, Germany was an anomaly in their world, and his presence had the possibility of causing some kind of paradox or something.

Third…there were _other_ things that inter-dimensional travel might allow. He'd been toying with the idea for the last few days, ever since he'd heard the other Germany describe his world, a world where _he_ was still alive. Arthur stopped flipping through the pages and glanced at the picture on his desk. A smiling blond looked back at him, glasses askew on his face after an incident with bumper cars at an amusement park.

Arthur sighed. _Maybe…maybe just one more time I can…_If he could get a steady portal of some kind working between Germany's world and his own, maybe they could bring in reinforcements to help take down Russia once and for all. Maybe they could get help in rebuilding their devastated world. Maybe they could finally put this terrible chapter of history behind them, and at the same time, usher in a new era of peace and new found friendship with an actual parallel universe. Maybe he could see Alfred's smiling face just one more time.

"Arthur?"

He looked up, meeting Francis' worried gaze. "What?"

"You've been working on that all day. How about you stop for dinner?"

"I need to keep working. It's important I get this done as soon as possible."

Francis frowned. "Please, Arthur?"

Arthur shook his head. "Eat without me. Tell everyone I'm busy."

"_Mon cher_, you really need a break. Don't forget you also have an army to help lead." Francis' frown deepened, his suspicions confirmed.

"I said no. I'll be around later. Just put some in the oven for me and keep it warm. I need to make at least _some_ progress on this today."

"Very well then." He made his decision. "I'll be heading out a mission to Egypt tomorrow."

Arthur looked up, concerned. "Since when?"

"Since today. We received another message from an informant. They have information on Russian troop movements. I don't know when I'll be back." He turned to leave, not knowing if he was making the right choice. He shook the doubt from his mind. _I will not be losing you again, Arthur._

Arthur bit his lip. "Be careful, Francis."

"I will, _Angleterre_."

* * *

Arthur pouted at the ashes of what used to be the apple. He'd accidentally blown it up in latest attempt to replicate the inter-dimensional travel spell. _I'm such a failure._ He had made some progress, however. He'd figured out what he'd done wrong in the first place, but now that he'd crossed out several sections of the previous spell, he had to fill them with something that worked correctly, and so far, he hadn't been able to.

Feliciano and Lovino had finally left for Italy, though they were expected to return for a progress update next week. Italy himself had been reluctant to leave, trying to convince his brother to attempt to run the country on his own. Romano had outright refused, convincing his brother (after several hours of trying) that it would better for everyone if he took his mind off "the potato bastard" for a while.

The house was much quieter now, though he could hear the sounds of Alfred and Francis downstairs. Francis was also about to depart for his homeland, some kind of recent financial problems beckoning him to come help his bosses. Arthur wasn't sure when Alfred was going to leave. He hadn't said anything about it yet.

He turned back to his spell book, creasing his eyebrows. The page was starting to get blurry. He squinted, bringing it back into focus. _Maybe my eyes are starting to go._ _Perhaps I should get glasses?_ He shook his head. He was exhausted. He hadn't left his room all day, besides the necessary bathroom breaks and meals, of course. And his government office had been ringing him all day, asking when he'd be back at work.

Arthur let his head fall on his desk. _Why must I always screw everything up so badly?_

"You okay, Arthur?"

He sat up, startled. "Oh, Alfred. I'm fine."

Alfred's worried frown showed skepticism. "Maybe you should take a break for the day." He strode up to him, forcefully closing his spell book and snatching it from the desk.

"Hey! Give that back, you git!"

Alfred shook his head. "You need your rest, old man." He grinned. "You look like you're drunk and you haven't even touched alcohol today!"

Arthur grinded his teeth together. "I'm trying to work here!"

"Well, you're not going to get very much done if you work yourself into hallucinations. You need to rest. I'm sure the spell isn't going to 'magically' disappear by tomorrow. Come downstairs and rest a while. Francis is cooking dinner." Alfred walked over to Arthur's closet and placed the book on top. "That better stay there until tomorrow."

Arthur looked up at the book and then to Alfred. "And what if it doesn't?"

Alfred's eyes drained of all amusement. "I'm not kidding, Arthur. You look terrible, and you're hurting yourself." He grabbed Arthur's arms and squeezed gently. "You need to stop it."

Arthur found himself blushing. "Well…fine then." He scoffed.

A hint of mirth flickered in Alfred's blue eyes. Before Arthur could stop him, Alfred kissed him full on the lips. Pulling back to Arthur's stunned green eyes, he started laughing. "You're so cute when you're angry, old man!"

The next he knew, Alfred was bounding off down the stairs, cackling loudly. Arthur stood there in a stupor for several seconds. Then he exploded. "W—what the bloody hell was that?"

* * *

"And you expect me to believe everything you're telling me, da?" Ivan swirled the vodka in his glass, eying the man sitting across from him. When he'd heard this particular man desired a meeting with him, he'd been more than surprised. It wasn't often someone like him broke from his routine and went out of his way to give Ivan information. In fact, this particular man had never come back to him after he'd freed him on the condition of being a spy. And he hadn't expected him to come back either.

"I do. It is the truth." The man shifted uneasily in his chair.

"And how, pray tell, does something like this occur?"

"They believe magic might be to blame."

"Magic? Is England still going on about that?"

"It was the most likely cause, and they are already looking for a way to send the…other one back where he came from."

"So, somewhere, out there, is an entire other world just like this one but with a slightly different history?"

"In theory, yes. And according to the other one, yes."

"Tell me something." He leaned closer to the man. "Why is it you chose to tell me this?"

The man sipped his drink, obviously nervous. "I worry about the implications. I fear they may attempt to contact this...other world…to bring in help."

"Hmm, interesting idea." Ivan was no fool. He knew this man's vanity and desires were more to blame for his sudden appearance than worry for Ivan's empire. He chuckled to himself. This man had always been a lovesick fool. He just didn't want _that man_ to come back. The only thing this man had ever done for Ivan was to help him bring down his biggest adversary. And Ivan supposed he did owe him something for that, despite the fact the man had helped him do it for personal reasons. "You say that England is currently working on this in London, da?"

"Yes."

"I'll send someone out there to…how would you say it, shake things up a bit, da?"

"That would be appreciated, Ivan."

Ivan chuckled. "You know I'm not a fool, da?"

The man stiffened. "I know."

"You're doing this only because you don't want England to find a replacement for his _hero_, da?"

The man drew his lips into a thin line. "I've seen the cogs turning in his head already. He may honestly want to sent the other Germany home, but that is _not_ all he has in mind."

Ivan shook his head. "I am amused that your personal vendetta falls in line with my goals." He smiled. "Regardless, I suppose you have kept your word to me, so I will keep mine to you. You can expect a raid within the next two weeks. I don't suppose England will have completed his..."magic" within that time frame?"

"Doubtful. He's only made little progress so far."

"Than I shall make sure he makes no more, da?"

The man nodded, blond hair falling into his face.

"I suppose we're done here then. There's a helicopter waiting for you on the roof."

The man stood up, sliding his coat back onto his thin frame. Ivan downed the rest of his vodka, watching with amused eyes as the man headed toward the door.

"Oh, and one more thing."

The man tensed before turning to look back at him. "Yes?"

"Since you have finally graced me with your presence, I would like to request that you send information more often. I've been a little disappointed thus far with your lack of reports."

Blue eyes hardened. He knew he was caught. Ivan could easily throw him in a cell and get rid of him. He had plenty other spies that could take his place. "All right then. I'll pass along anything _significant_ I find out." He opened the door, turning his back on Ivan.

Ivan grinned. "You do that, Francis."

* * *

**Dro:** The plot thickens! Ha ha! **Remember, reviews are love!**

**Next Chapter:** Russia's promised raid happens in London, scattering the nations and destroying Arthur's work. Meanwhile, the news of Austria's death finally arrives, and the resistance forces realize there's only way to stop the USSR: kill Russia himself. **  
**


	4. A Black Night

**Dro:** Whoa! Sorry this is a little late today compared to usual. This chapter ended up about 3k without the author notes. Don't know how that happened...anyway, enjoy! The plot starts to thicken now!

**Chapter Summary:** Russian bombers destroy the London base, forcing the resistance to flee to France. Once there, they receive the news about Austria, causing several breakdowns and Hungary to suggest the ultimate-and most dangerous-plan. The only plan that will definitely gain them victory: killing Russia. Meanwhile, in the original world, Arthur realizes there's a problem with his new spell.

**Warnings: **Um...angst? Not too intense of a chapter besides the emotions...

**Disclaimer: **I will never own APH (sadly).

* * *

The ground shook. Arthur stuffed as many of his belongings as he could into his bag and took off, heading for his office. A tremor nearly knocked him off his feet. He steadied himself, knowing he didn't have much time. They were getting close. He took his keys from his pocket and tried getting the right one in the lock, failing multiple times as the doorknob shook in front of him. Finally, he got the door open and rushed inside, spying all the files in his office that could cause their defeat if obtained by Russia. He couldn't get them all in time.

Having no choice, he stuffed only the immediately important things into his bag—his spell books, the files on Russia's troop movements, and their latest intelligence on Russia's spy ring—and popped open the small can of kerosene he'd brought with him. He splashed it throughout the room and backed out, tossing the can in. From his pocket, he produced a box of matches. He lit it, looking forlornly into the office that had almost been his home for a year.

He tossed the match in. The room went up in an inferno. Arthur ran. The hallways trembled with each bomb from the Russian fighters. He'd ordered everyone to head for the emergency evacuation route that led to a part of London where he'd stored arms and vehicles for an escape. He _should have been_ the last one left in the building. He caught a whiff of the smoke from other set fires, destroying any possibility that Russia could gain something other than a basic retreat.

He rounded a corner, noticing the ceiling looked ready to collapse. Rushing by it, a massive quake sent him tumbling to the floor, his bag sliding away from him. He pushed himself up and ran to it, a grating sound catching his attention. He looked up in terror as the ceiling collapsed inward, heading straight for him. _I'll never make it_.

A force pushed him out the way, and he lost the grasp on his bag. He slammed to the floor and rolled over, gasping as he realized just who'd saved him. "Ludwig?"

"Come on. We need to leave." Ludwig commanded. When Arthur hadn't arrived in the escape tunnels, he'd been worried. He'd waited behind with Francis and Antonio, but Arthur had never come. He'd decided to head up back to the main level. _Good thing too. Gott knows what would've become of him._

"But…" Arthur looked on in horror at the pile of ruined ceiling that covered his bag. "My spell books are in there! I need those to…" He trailed off at Ludwig's expression.

"My return isn't worth your life. Let's go." Ludwig's cold voice commanded. Arthur clenched his fists but complied. They set off in a run toward the tunnels, the sounds of the building collapsing following them. Once in the tunnels, the sounds were subdued, the blasts of exploding bombs dulled by the earth around them.

Antonio and Francis greeted them at the entrance, and the four of the ran the entire way to the safe house. Arthur noticed Francis looked particularly stricken. He'd been hiding in his room for the last few days, feeling ill apparently. Arthur had tried to cheer up. His trip to Egypt had yielded excellent results. Results that were now lost in the debris, of course. But Arthur had managed to get most of it computerized first, and his external hard drive was still on his person. Or so he hoped. He felt his jacket pockets. _Good. Still there. We didn't lose everything at least._

Everyone else greeted them at the safe house, armed and ready for a fast retreat. They had tunnels extensive enough to get them close to the coast, where they had boats ready to evacuate to France. Arthur sighed, knowing he probably wouldn't see his country again for a long time. When he found out how Russia had discovered their base, he'd make sure that it would never happen again. He knew Russia's extensive spy network could be anywhere in their ranks. They probably had a rat somewhere.

He armed himself and hopped into an awaiting jeep. They took off through the tunnels, everything dead silent save for the hum of the engines. The drive seemed to take forever, and Arthur started to fidget. Francis, who was next to him, patted his shoulder.

"Don't worry. We'll all be fine, I'm sure."

"Hn…" Arthur wasn't sure of anything anymore. He hadn't been for some time now.

By the time they were on the boats, daylight fading in the distance, Arthur felt a sense of hopelessness begin to overcome him. He'd lost all his work on the parallel world spell. He'd lost his own base. He could only thank God they hadn't lost any lives. No one had seen this coming. He felt like a failure. His network of spies should've contacted him. They had so many informants…why didn't anyone see this coming? He was lost. He started wondering if he was losing it. The last few years had been so stressful, he was starting to second guess himself more often. The constant fatigue was taking its toll on him. Maybe he wasn't fit to be leading this war anymore.

He considered—not for the first time—giving up his post. He had plenty of other capable people. Antonio had shaped up in the last few years, and he was the key factor in some of their most important wins. Francis was…still Francis, but he'd become a lot more serious. He had Mathias and Abel and Berwald, who were currently working with Kiku to keep the Red Army out of Japan. They'd all lost their own countries, and it had become their prime goal to stop Russia from gaining anymore ground.

And then there was Matthew. Arthur swallowed, taking a deep breath of the cool air that had settled on the water. Matthew had changed so much. He'd been so shy before this ordeal had started back when…back when Alfred was…still there. After _it_ had happened, he'd changed. The loss of his brother had been too much, and with Russia moving in on Canada, he'd morphed into a powerful leader. The boy Arthur had known just a few years ago was gone. A strong, determined, and serious military commander was in his place.

Matthew was back in his homeland now, fighting on a particularly nasty battlefront. He had Russia coming at him from two sides, but he'd managed to fend for himself. It helped that a large portion of the American population had fled to Canada in the wake of the nuclear strike. They had a powerful army now. It also helped that Matthew had managed to reclaim Alaska. The resources the former American state had were innumerable.

Arthur had been hoping to hear from Matthew for the past couple of weeks, but the lines had been silent. He tapped impatiently on the railing, shaking his head. _Please just let things start going right. I can't take anymore tragedy._

_

* * *

_

Ludwig heaved another box of ammunition from the boat. He'd been helping them unload weaponry from the boats for the last two hours. After they were done, he'd been told, they'd be heading to the French base, which had already made preparations for them. Gilbert stood next to him, a clipboard in his hand as he checked off everything.

"You know, West, you really don't have to help us like this."

Ludwig looked up at him as he passed another crate to the man next to him. "Why wouldn't I? This is a war, _bruder_, and you obviously need all the help you can get."

Gilbert glanced at him with a deep frown. "This is a war for _our_ world. You shouldn't feel obligated to be involved in it."

"I'm involved whether I like it or not, Gilbert. I'm _here_, and that's enough. I'm at risk of getting shot at and caught in bombings just like you. So I might as well help out if it's in my power to do so."

Gilbert shook his head. "I thought being from a parallel world meant you'd be different. But you're the same West I used to know."

Ludwig shrugged. "Parallel also means I should be similar."

"True."

An hour later they were on the road again, this time _above the ground_. It was already the middle of the night, and everyone was exhausted from the long trip. Gilbert was starting to nod off when they arrived at the base, and Ludwig had to shrug his _bruder_ off his shoulder. Then they had to unload all over again. Ludwig's arms were aching by the time they were finished. He didn't want to dare attempt to count how many boxes he'd moved.

The lingering people headed inside, and Ludwig found himself thrust into the middle of an angry frenzy. He and Gilbert stared, confused, as Arthur and Francis and Gilbert _and_ Elizaveta yelled back and forth. Elizaveta was crying, and Antonio and Francis looked read to crack any minute. Arthur seemed to be the only one holding it together, but he looked ready to drop dead from exhaustion.

"What is going on here?" Gilbert yelled over the shouting.

The room went silent. The other nations stared at him, Arthur biting his lip. "We…we just got the news in…it's…you see…Roderich…" Arthur struggled to get the words out.

"Roddy what, Arthur?" Gilbert's voice dropped to a dangerous low. Ludwig raised his eyebrows. His brother was rarely like this.

"Roderich…" Arthur started, but he couldn't finish it.

Somehow, Antonio managed to pick it up. "Roderich is dead."

Gilbert's punch hit Antonio in the cheek, sending him backward and onto the floor.

"Gilbert!" Ludwig jumped into the fray, pulling Gilbert back.

"Don't you dare say that!" Gilbert screamed. "Don't you dare!" He struggled wildly, repeating it over and over and over again. Ludwig held on tight until his _bruder_ finally gave up and sank to his knees. Ludwig released him, worried. "Don't…don't you dare…" A sob broke from his throat.

Ludwig bent down next to him, pain flashing through his chest. Roderich had always been a good friend to him and Gilbert over the years. And now this world's Roderich…He met his brother's pained eyes and realized. _More than friends. A lot more._ "_Bruder_, you…"

"Just…just shut up!" He grabbed his hair, pulling on it. "How…how did this happen?" He screamed at the others, who looked like they _really_ didn't want to tell him.

Antonio rubbed his sore cheek, eyes downcast. "I don't think we need to tell you. You already know, don't you?"

Gilbert's voice hitched as he tried to respond. "No…not…not like that."

Ludwig felt like he was missing something. "What're you talking about? I don't understand. How…?" He let it go, knowing his friends couldn't handle it. _He_ couldn't handle it. The thought of Roderich…dead…wasn't something he wanted to wrap his head around.

Arthur finally got his voice back. "Sorry, Ludwig. You probably don't want to hear this, but we've pretty much grown accustomed to people dying like this. It still hurts. Every time. Of course it does." He lips turned up in a bitter smile. "But…it's a pretty frequent occurrence for the Italy brothers to kill one of us."

Ludwig felt the world drop out from under him. Feliciano had _killed_ Roderich? "No…"

"Like I said before, Ludwig. The Italy that you know is not the one we know. Our Italy and Romano are killers. And if they have their way, we'll all be dead by their hand at the end of this war."

"I'm telling you, it's time we do _it_."

"We don't have the resources for that and you know it, Elizaveta!" Arthur snapped.

The woman glared at him. "We have every resource we need. You're just too scared to risk it."

"Because it's a major risk!"

"And if we actually do it?"

"Then…well...we win."

"Exactly." She huffed. "You know as well as I do that we're fighting a losing battle here. The only way we can win is by taking him out. Without him, the entire empire comes crashing to the ground."

"Um…" Ludwig stared. "What're you talking about?"

Elizaveta's tear-stained face looked down at him. "I'm talking about killing Russia."

* * *

Arthur paced back and forth. He'd finally done it, finally fixed the damned spell. He'd spent the last few days tweaking it, and then he'd tested it on another apple, which had promptly disappeared, no smoke, no explosion. He'd jumped for joy at that, realizing he'd actually done something right magic-wise. He could remedy his stupid mistake now and get Germany back where he belonged.

Then he'd realized there was a complication. He'd sent the apple _to _the parallel world, but he couldn't get it back. He realized he would need another person to do the spell, one on the other side. He'd have to have someone _in _the parallel world working the magic. Either that, or he'd have to go there himself. But _that_ wouldn't work either. He realized this particular spell couldn't be performed _on_ the caster because the caster acted as an anchor and point of reference, so he would _have_ to have a another person performing the spell or _he'd_ get stuck in the parallel world.

For him to get a second person to the perform the spell on the other side, someone from _his_ world would have to go there and explain the spell. And there was always the off chance that the parallel world didn't have anyone adept in magic. Then the person he sent to the parallel world on purpose would get stuck there too.

Arthur collapsed in his chair. _So close…and yet so far._ How could he risk another person in an attempt to get Germany back? He put his face in his hands. He couldn't. It was as simple as that. He couldn't ask someone to risk their life for this. He'd failed _again_! And the brothers were coming back tomorrow for an update! How could he break it to them that it _couldn't_ be done?

"What happened?"

He jumped at Alfred's voice. The younger man was still hanging around. He stood in the doorway looking concerned.

"Um, it's nothing."

"You sounded so happy earlier, so obviously something happened."

"I just realized I failed again. Back to square one. That's all. I'm disappointed."

Alfred frowned. "I fixed food. Come down for lunch?"

"Hamburgers again?"

"Nope, fish and fries! Isn't that what you guys like to eat here?"

"It's 'fish and chips,' Alfred."

"Oh…so I was wrong to cook the fries?" He pouted.

Arthur sighed. "No, Alfred. You were right."

"Okay…well, come on then!" Alfred grabbed him and pulled him up, tugging him toward the stairs. Alfred's antics usually got on his nerves, but they were a welcome reprieve from the impending disaster he'd knew he'd be facing at the next world conference. He could see the topic now.

'Let's discuss how England snuffed out Germany by sending him to a parallel world!'

He sighed. He was doomed. And so was Germany. _I'm sorry, Ludwig. Please forgive me!_ He tried to drown his sorrows in tea, but it didn't really help. He munched on his fish, surprised that Alfred had actually cooked the meal fairly well. He noticed Alfred staring at him about halfway through his chips, a look of concern on the boy's face. He _had_ been taking more breaks like Alfred suggested, so he wasn't quite as tired. It was just hard to keep his spirits up knowing he was such a colossal failure.

"So, what exactly happened with the spell stuff now?" Alfred ventured to ask.

Arthur sipped his tea. "I thought I had it this time. But I realized the spell I have now won't work."

"Why not?"

Arthur explained the problem of having to send another person. "The risk is too great. I'll have to try again."

"No, you won't."

"Huh?" He set his cup down. "What are you getting at?"

Alfred's expression hardened into one of sheer determination, a serious gaze that Arthur rarely saw settling over his eyes. "I'll go."

"What?" Arthur knocked his glass over.

"I said, I'll go. To the other world. Send me there."

"But...but…absolutely not! It's too dangerous! I won't risk you like that!"

"It's not your choice to make. We _have_ to get Germany back, Arthur. That's not up for discussion. If you have a way to send me there, then do it. I'll find Germany, and I'll find someone to perform the spell there. It's a parallel world, remember? There's probably another _you_ running around there somewhere."

"That's possible…but…" He couldn't send Alfred! What if…what if never came back?

Seeing the stricken look on Arthur's face, Alfred rounded the table and cupped the man's face, resting his forehead on Arthur's. "Don't worry about me, old man. I _will_ come back. I'm the hero, remember?" He brushed his lips against Arthur's.

Arthur's face heated up, and he felt tears stinging his eyes. He couldn't let Alfred go like this! "And…and what if you _don't_ come back?" He whispered.

Unwavering blue eyes met his own. "_That_ is not an option."

* * *

**Dro: **D'aww! I couldn't resist throwing in some USxUK. It's just too cute! Plus, it's important in the parallel world. Anyway, this chapter has effectively set up the entire rest of the story! (With some awesome plot twists thrown in, of course.)

**Next Chapter:** Russia informs Italy about the other Germany, causing painful memories to resurface. Meanwhile, America arrives in the parallel world and goes in search of Germany.


	5. A Green Apple Revisited

**Dro:** Hey, guys! Ready for another chapter of parallel world awesomeness? Well, here you go! (By the way, I don't have a beta, so if you guys see a terrible error...like a _really _bad one...can you tell me in the review? Thanks!)

**Chapter Summary:** Russia's revelation about Germany has Italy reliving old nightmares. Meanwhile, America heads to the parallel world, but not before admitting his feelings to a certain someone. -hint hint-

**Warnings: **I forgot this was a T-rated fic for a minute, so _watch out for Romano's terrible language_. Other than that, there's actually not too much that's really bad in this chapter, unless you count some kissing and oblique references to violence.

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH, guys. I know, it's sad, right?

* * *

Feliciano marched down the hallway, people evading him left and right as soon as they saw who he was. Ignoring them, he headed toward Ivan's main office. He'd gotten the memo just a few minutes ago to meet up with Ivan. Apparently, the man had something important to tell him. He wondered what Ivan could possibly have to tell him alone. Usually, meetings with Ivan included Lovino.

Reaching the door, he knocked three times and heard Ivan's curt reply of "Come in." He opened the door to see Ivan at his desk, his favorite chess set set up next to his computer. Ivan twirled around a black knight in his fingers.

"Good morning, Feliciano."

"Good morning, Ivan." Feliciano closed the door and walked up to Ivan's desk. "You wanted to see me, sir?" He straightened his back. He and Ivan both tended to act professional while at work.

"Mhmm. I have recently been enlightened to a most interesting fact." Ivan placed the knight back on the board, moving it to take out a white pawn.

Feliciano raised an eyebrow. "What might that be, sir?"

Ivan's playful eyes met his own. "Come here." He turned his chair to the left and patted his knee, indicating for Feliciano to sit on it.

Feliciano's other eyebrow went up. _Maybe not so professional after all._ Ivan did not often want to "play" during the day. Shrugging off the oddness of the situation, he slipped onto Ivan's lap, facing him, and let his arms rest on the man's shoulders. Ivan's hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him into a passionate kiss. Feliciano brought his hands to Ivan's face as he kissed back. _This is really strange._ Ivan broke the kiss, and Feliciano gave him a questioning gaze.

"Sorry. But I have a feeling you're about to be in a bad mood for the rest of the day, so I thought I'd get that out of my system now."

"Come again?" _What is he talking about?_

"How to explain this…I suppose I should just come out and say it." Ivan sighed. Feliciano was starting to get worried now. "Apparently, by way of some kind of magic, a Germany from a parallel world has ended up in ours. And he is currently with and helping the resistance forces."

Feliciano's mind blanked at the name Germany. "Um…I'm sorry…what did you say?" His heart pounded hard in his chest.

"I'm saying there's another Germany, Feliciano." Ivan's hand caressed his cheek gently, kind eyes hiding a malicious intent that would lash out the moment Feliciano made the _wrong_ reaction to this news. Feliciano knew this well, so he did nothing, despite the fact he felt ready to breakdown and cry.

"How is that possible? Did you say magic?" He kept his voice steady. Somehow. _Keep it together. Keep it together. _A memory of a blood covered hand flashed in his mind. He pushed it back. _Not yet. Not in front of Ivan. He will beat me senseless._

Ivan scrutinized him. Apparently satisfied, he replied. "Yes. One of my spies tells me that dear old Arthur believes magic is responsible. They are looking for a way to return him to his world. However, this may cause some problems for us. If they can somehow manage to tap resources from another world…well, obviously that would give them an advantage we don't want them to have."

"Of course. So, is there something you want me to do?" _Please don't, Ivan. Please. It will kill me this time. _The image of blood covered knife burn its way through his consciousness. He was starting to feel faint.

"Yes." Ivan smiled. He smiled with that damned fake innocent smile that Feliciano hated with a passion. "I would like you to kill this Germany."

Feliciano's heart skipped a beat. _You bastard!_ He kept a steady face, putting on the expression he used when considering a kill.

"That shouldn't be too hard for you, right?" He reached over and moved the black knight again, putting it face to face with a white knight. "I mean, you've already done it once before."

"No, Ivan. It shouldn't be too difficult." Feliciano tugged his lips up into the usual docile smile he used when confronting Ivan. "Is there a time frame? You want this done soon?"

"As soon as possible."

"I will get to work on it. I am assuming this is a solo mission? Am I allowed to tell Lovino or is top secret?"

Ivan mulled it over. "If you want. He can help you locate the man. But remember, it's _your_ kill."

Feliciano stiffened. _He knows. Somehow…some way…he knows._ He nodded. "Of course." He rose from Ivan's lap. "Is that all, sir?"

"It is. You may go."

Feliciano headed out the door, trying to stop his body from shaking. It was a futile fight. He gave Ivan one more smile before closing the office door behind him. He rushed down the hall, just short of a full run, toward his bedroom. Tears prickled his eyes. Another image slammed into him. A blond man's bloody body laying motionless on the floor. He wrenched his door open and slammed it behind him, releasing a strangled sob as he tried to lock it. Then he collapsed onto his knees, his chest constricting.

Tears poured down his cheeks as the memories assaulted him. A bright, sunny day, birds chirping. Food on the stove, smelling wonderful. A man standing there, gorgeous and happy. And so was he. _So was he._ So happy. And then he turned around and saw his brother give the signal. And he froze.

A beautiful kitchen with food still on the stove, food now starting to burn. Sunlight still streamed through the windows, highlighting the beauty of the day. And he stood there motionless with a blood covered hand and a blood covered knife, staring down a blood covered floor. And the person on it…God!

He started hyperventilating. He collapsed into a ball, rocking back and forth, gripping his hair hard with his hands. He suppressed a scream of agony. _Make it stop! Make it stop! Please!_ He couldn't do it again. He couldn't watch Ludwig die again. No. No. No. No!

The memories were drowning him. He struggled to get in a breath. In the distance, he heard a dull thud against the door followed by a loud shout. He curled up tighter, ignoring everything. The door slammed the wall as someone threw it open.

"What is…_fratello?_!" Lovino closed the door again, relocking it, and shoved the key into pocket. He bent down next to Feliciano, shaking him gently. "What's wrong, Feliciano? Are you okay?"

Feliciano's reply was another strangled sob. Lovino sighed. He'd thought his _fratello_ had passed this stage months ago. Something must have happened. He pulled his crying brother into his arms and deposited him on the bed. Shuffling through the nightstand's drawer, he produced a bottle of sleeping pills. He popped the cap and poured two into his hand, grabbing the bottle of water from his desk.

"_Fratello_, take these. They'll help you calm down, okay?"

"Don't want to sleep!"

"Don't fight me on this! You can barely breathe like you are now! Just take them!"

Feliciano relented, releasing himself from his fetal position and allowing himself to swallow the pills. He collapsed back onto the bed, waiting for the inevitable sleep, and pressed his face into the pillow. Lovino sat next to him, running a hand through Feliciano's hair. What could've happened?

"Can't do it again."

"You can't do what, Feliciano?"

"I can't kill him again."

Lovino froze. _What is he talking about?_ He knew damn well what Feliciano was referring to, but he couldn't figure out what his brother meant by "again." A sudden knock on the door broke him from his disturbing pattern of thought. He slipped off the bed and unlocked the door, opening it a crack.

"Yao?" The Chinese man looked up, apparently not amused.

"Ivan told me he needs to see you, aru. Something about Feliciano and a mission." He huffed. Yao was renown for _hating_ being used as a messenger, mostly because Ivan tended to use him exclusively as one whenever he was staying in Russia.

"All right. Thanks for passing the message."

Yao snorted. "Whatever. I have work to do."

"Kiku still giving you trouble?"

"When has he not, aru? And now he has those damned Nordic bastards working with him, along with the damn Netherlands! It wouldn't be so bad without him, but he's a master strategist."

"As are you. I'm sure you can manage them."

Yao sighed. "I hope so, aru. Ivan is beginning to get impatient. He really wants Japan."

Lovino shrugged. "Ivan wants everything."

Yao smiled ruefully. "That he does, aru."

* * *

Alfred watched diligently, silent for one of those rare times in his life. Arthur, equally silent, went about his work, setting up the ingredients he needed to perform the spell. Alfred blew a hair out of his face, tapping his fingers on the chair he was sitting in with nervous anticipation. He was _really_ going to another world, wasn't he? He didn't know why he was surprised. It _was_ his idea, after all. But the idea just sounded so absurd.

Arthur had spent all day trying to talk him out of it, but Alfred wouldn't have it. He was the hero, and he would act like it in this situation. If the only way to get Germany back was to send someone else to the parallel world, then Alfred would go there, hands down. His eyes tracked Arthur's every move, the man looking tired and unraveled. Arthur had worked his ass off to fix his spell, missing out on important international relations meeting, blowing off his bosses and his _queen_…Alfred was worried about him.

He knew Arthur wouldn't relax until both he and Germany were back, safe and sound. Which meant he needed to do this fast. Arthur was spiraling downward quickly. The guilt from his accidental spell was crushing him. And Alfred couldn't stand to see him that way. He cared about Arthur so much, though he wasn't sure how to tell him. He imagined a relationship between his former guardian and himself would be rather awkward and most of the time, long distance. They were nations. They had work to do. Every day. All the time.

It was amazing _any_ of them could keep up relationships. He wondered how Germany and Italy managed to do it. True, they weren't _officially_ dating, but it was pretty obvious what happened between them behind closed doors. And they'd been together for _so long_ now. How did they manage it? Alfred promised himself he'd ask Germany when he located him in this parallel world.

"All right. I think that's it." Arthur swallowed. He didn't want to do this. How could he justify sending Alfred to the other world like this? But the man was so persistent!

Alfred stood up and walked over to Arthur, standing inside the magic circle the man had created. Their eyes met, Arthur's green ones pleading with him. Something struck Alfred. What if he was gone for months? Or _years_ even? What if it took him a hell of a long time to find Germany? Would Arthur slowly waste away here, cracking emotionally thinking he'd sent Alfred to his death? He saw the impending future swirling in Arthur's worried eyes.

A wall of firm decision pushed him forward. He stepped out the circle just as Arthur held up his notes, and the man jumped, confused. "Alfred, what're you…?"

Alfred plucked the papers from Arthur's hand and slammed them on the desk, causing Arthur to jump again. "What—?" Alfred grabbed him by the arms and pulled him into a searing kiss. He'd teased Arthur too long with chaste hints. He wanted to Arthur to _know_. Arthur tensed in his grip for several seconds, green eyes wide in disbelief. The look melted down after a few seconds, his lips loosening up and starting to kiss back. His eyes slipped completely closed as Alfred's hands slid from his arms and settled around his waist. Arthur's arms shot up around Alfred's neck, pulling him further in to the kiss.

Arthur's heart pounded in his chest. Their kiss broke for a brief moment before they were together again. _Is this really happening? I'm dreaming, aren't I?_ There was no way Alfred really felt this way about him. He certainly didn't feel this way about Alfred…or…did he? He pushed himself up against Alfred, mesmerized by the other man's lips. Oh _God_, he did have feelings for Alfred! _Why the hell didn't I notice this before?_ He jumped as he felt Alfred's tongue run along lips, coaxing them open. _Oh God…I'm really going to…_

"Wah!"

"What the fuck?"

The broke apart, Arthur reeling backwards into his desk, Alfred tripping over a chair and flipping backward onto the floor. Arthur looked at the doorway, where a very disturbed pair of Italy brothers were staring at them in utter disbelief. _Oh…ha ha…I forgot they were coming over today._

"Hey…you two…how're you?" He smiled, his face twitching as it heated up in embarrassment.

"Well, I was fine until I walked in on you two sucking each other's faces off!" Romano snapped. "What the fuck was that? Since when were you two together?"

"Ve, Romano, calm down! I think it's cute. That was just…surprising." Italy laughed, a blush on his face.

Alfred rolled himself over and stood up, rubbing his sore head. "Hey, guys! I guess we should've locked the door, huh?"

"Yeah…" Romano didn't look amused. He eyes landed on the magic circle. "What's going on here?"

"Ah…well…about that…" Arthur stumbled over his words. He spent the next fifteen minutes explaining everything to the Italy brothers, Alfred hovering behind him the entire time. _I'm never going to live this down when those two still everything to everyone._

"Ve, so you're leaving right now, Alfred?" Italy looked up at him in wonder. He wished he could go too. He wanted to see Ludwig again. His house just felt so empty without Ludwig's presence, even with his _fratello_ there all the time. He'd gotten so used to Ludwig's presence. Everything just felt _wrong_ without him there.

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, Germany's already been gone for a while now. If I don't leave soon, it might be really hard to find him."

Arthur shook his head as Alfred looked at him. "Let's just get this over with."

"Unless you two want to fuck first. We can always leave so you can have your goodbye sex."

"_Fratello!_"

Alfred coughed, ignoring Romano. He turned to Arthur, whose face was on fire. He chuckled, leaning in and kissing Arthur softly on the lips one last time. Romano sputtered behind him. He leaned close to Arthur's ear. "I _will _be back, and don't you forget that."

Arthur sighed, a small smile gracing his lips. "I won't."

Alfred stepped back into the circle, taking a deep breath. Arthur picked up his papers, his hand shaking. He started to read, slowly at first, the picked up the pace. The circle lit up, and Alfred closed his eyes as a strange feeling swept through him. Italy and Romano looked on in awe from the sideline. Arthur hit the last line of the spell, his anxiety building up. _Please, Alfred…Please come back._ The last word passed his lips.

A bright burst of light filled the room, and he snapped his eyes closed. It died out, and he stood there, blinking wildly and seeing spots. He looked at the circle.

Alfred was gone.

* * *

Alfred opened his eyes to a bright blue sky. Shaking off the odd feeling of falling, he sat up, looking around. He was on a slab broken off a wall of a collapsed building. Realizing the carnage around him, he moved to stand, his hand brushing something. He glanced down, spotting a green apple. He wrapped his fingers around it, knowing what it meant.

He stood up, his eyes surveying the immense destruction. The lining of his trademark jacket rustled in the wind, and he pulled it closer to him, a chill running down his spine. He inhaled a cold breath, disbelief starting to spike in his stomach.

"This place…" In the distance, he spotted something that shook him to the core. The London Eye. "London…I'm in…London?"

A sound caught his ears, a sound he recognized. Jets? He glanced up at the sky, spotting three fighter jets flying over head. Three fighter jets that seemed to have spotted him and were heading his way.

Three fighter jets bearing the mark of the Soviet Union.

His body screamed a single command at him.

_Run._

_

* * *

_

**Dro: **Ah...things don't start out so well for America there...

**Next Chapter:** America runs for his life, managing to take out a jet in the process by using his super strength. Pressed for information, he attacks the downed pilot, only to stop when he realizes who it is. Meanwhile, the resistance puts together a crack team to take out Russia. But will France ruin the plan before it's ever set into motion?


	6. An Indigo Sky

**Dro: **Hey, I finished on time today! Here's your dose of **A Crack in the Looking Glass** for today, guys! Tomorrow, I'll be back with another exciting installment of **World Powers**!

**Chapter Summary:** America takes out one of the fighter jets and assaults the pilot, stopping when he recognizes an old friend. Meanwhile, the resistance argues about how to ensure Russia's death, and Germany is forced to step in to calm them down.

**Warnings:** Language, Slight Violence

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, Dro will never own APH

* * *

Alfred ducked into an alley as a barrage of bullets bounced off the sidewalk beside him. He ran through to the other side and back out into another street, slipping behind an overturned pickup truck. The fighter jets passed over head, turning around at a wide angle and returning for another sweep. One of the fighters dipped closer to the ground as it flew by, apparently searching for any sign of Alfred's presence. The missed him and kept going.

He pulled himself up to get a better look at them, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Those were _Soviet_ jets. _Soviet!_ What the hell kind of world was this? He looked around at the ruins of London, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. Was he really in some kind of alternate world where the Soviet Union hadn't fallen? The tension built up in his chest. This was _not_ what he'd been expecting. _I'm not sure I can deal with this again…_There'd been so many close calls with Russia in the past, and to see his threats actually come to fruition…Alfred punched the side of the truck, denting it in.

Bullets blew past him, sending up trails of dust into the air. He ducked as the same fighter neared building level again, searching desperately for its target. Annoyed, Alfred crouched and pushed the truck up in a way that allowed him to lift it. He heaved it into the air at the exact right moment, swinging it around until he'd pent up enough momentum. Then he let it go. It soared through the air, too fast for the fighter to dodge. Just before impact, the pilot ejected, shooting into the air.

Alfred dove out the way as the two vehicles made contact, an inferno erupting then exploding as the ball of flame and twisted metal slammed into the ground. Taking a glance at the burning wreckage, Alfred looked for the pilot again. He needed information. Now. He spotted the man's parachute carrying him safely to the ground less than a mile away. Alfred took off in a run, weaving through the fallen ruins and of once beautiful homes and landmarks. He hit a corner and took a sharp turn just in time to see the man land safely on the ground. He hid back in the shadows, waiting for the unsuspecting pilot to get himself in a vulnerable position.

The man unhooked himself from his seat, stumbling as he tried to stand. Shaking, he started walking forward, trying to contact his comrades. He turned his back on Alfred, looking toward the sky to hail the other two fighters. Alfred took his chance. He lunged from the darkness and tackled the pilot to the ground, tearing his earpiece off and crushing it. The man fumbled for a gun Alfred spotted in his jacket, but Alfred pinned the man's hands long enough to toss the gun aside. He gripped the man's wrists until he heard a satisfying crack, and the man screamed. Letting the man's wrists go, Alfred tore at the man's helmet, ripping it off his head with one hand and raising the other into a fist, bringing it down.

He stopped less than an inch from the man's cheek. Not out of mercy. Out of shock. Familiar blue eyes met his own, equally stunned and wide with disbelief. Light brown hair, strewn about messily, frame his face. His mouth hung open in pure shock, a sputtering garbled gasp emerging from between his lips.

Alfred stayed completely frozen, his brain being pulled in multiple directions. Hit. Release. Strangle. Roll off. Say hi. Alfred's fist began to relax, and he sat up, straddling the smaller man beneath him. Their eyes left never the other's.

"Toris…?"

Lithuania gaped up at him, the shock still firmly in place. "A…A—Alfred?"

"Holy…" Alfred couldn't find the right words. _Toris_ had been the one shooting at him? Toris was a _fighter pilot_? And then…Toris was still part of the Soviet Union. "You…you work Russia."

Toris' eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "What else is new? Besides you being alive…?"

"Huh?"

"You…you can't be…" Toris' eyes trailed over Alfred's body, as if he was trying to memorize every detail, trying to prove to himself that he wasn't hallucinating. "I know that you…I know you died…you couldn't have survived…not that…" He struggled to make a coherent sentence.

"Wait…I _died_?" Alfred had no idea what Toris was talking about for a second, then he realized. "Oh, you mean the me from _this_ world." Alfred frowned. "Shit, I'm _dead_ here?"

Toris' lip trembled. "What do you mean 'this world'?"

"Oh, well, long story…" Maybe he shouldn't have said that out loud. He looked down at Toris, noticing the man seemed to be thinking about something. Suddenly, his eyes widened, like he was having a sudden epiphany.

"You." He said decisively. "You're the Alfred from the same world as the other Germany, aren't you?"

"Uh…" _How did he know that unless…_ "You know my Germany is here?"

"Of course. _Nothing _escapes Ivan's knowledge. Nothing." Toris laughed bitterly.

Alfred frowned deeper. Something about this Lithuania didn't sit right with him. There was something defeated in Toris' eyes, something submissive and broken and rueful. Something really, really bad was happening in this world. A noise caught Alfred's attention, and he realized the other two fighters were coming back. He heaved Toris off the ground, ignoring the man's protests, and slung him over his shoulder. Disappearing into another alley, he ran until he spotted a building still in one piece. He got inside the closed the door just as the jets passed over head.

Toris struggled in arms, demanding to be let go. Alfred set him down, immediately pinning him to the wall.

"You're going to tell me what's going on in this world. Got it?"

Toris met him with resentful eyes. "Sure, but you need to be more specific than that. The state of this planet is a little complicated, if you hadn't noticed. And you need to let me go afterward."

"And why should I? You're obviously working for Russia. You tried to shoot me."

"I didn't know it was you."

"Would you have still shot at me if you had?"

Toris seemed to consider his position but shrugged anyway. "Probably. I can't defy Ivan's orders."

"Are you really that compliant? Are you really so broken you'll do whatever that bastard says? This world…" Alfred laughed, low and dark. "It's really something. Destroyed. Barren. And full of broken—"

"It's not that I'm _broken_ Alfred. It's that I'm being blackmailed."

Alfred's mind failed to catch up. "Wait. Huh?"

Toris rolled his eyes. "Still dense no matter what world you come from, I see."

"What are you talking about? What blackmail? Russia is blackmailing you?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Toris eyes darkened, and he stared at the floor. "If I defy him—at all—he'll torture Feliks to death." He swallowed, biting his lips. "And he promised to make me watch."

* * *

Ludwig watched as they debated for the fifth hour in a row. Elizaveta was pushing for an all out assault, pulling out all the tricks they had up their sleeves in one massive final showdown aimed directly at Russia's home itself so they could kill Russia and all his closest allies in one foul swoop. Arthur was for a more subtle approach. He was advocating for assembling a small team to slip into Russia's mansion outside Moscow and take him down in a covert operation. Francis had kept completely quiet the entire time, something that confused Ludwig. Antonio was attempting to be the mediator, but his vain attempts to stop the impending death match between his two friends weren't really helping.

They hadn't really addressed Ludwig's presence, despite the fact he'd come in Gilbert's absence. His _bruder_ hadn't been feeling all that well since…He shook his head, watching Elizaveta threaten Arthur with a frying pan. He wanted to step in, wanted to give his opinions on the matter, but he felt like there was a wall between him and the others. He wasn't supposed to be part of their world, and he kept getting the impression they wanted to keep his as far out of it as possible.

Ludwig wasn't stupid. He _was_ a part of their world. He'd had been for weeks now. And no matter how much he wanted to tear right through the dimensions and settle back in his own world, see Feliciano again, and reclaim his life, he couldn't do so without Arthur's assistance. And Arthur…the man was obviously overworked and at the end of his ropes. The dark circles under his eyes had become even darker since the attack on the London base. He wondered if the man was even sleeping at all. He was always on call, always up and about and fixing emergencies.

Ludwig was afraid Arthur's body might just give out on him one day. The yelling escalated, catching Ludwig's attention. Antonio was standing in between the two competitors now, holding his arms out and trying to get them to calm down before someone got hurt. Francis was still huddled in the corner, his eyes downcast. Arthur was incessantly yelling at Elizaveta, who returned the favor. They were closing in on each other, Antonio in very real danger of being injured by either one of them. Ludwig had enough.

He stood up abruptly, his metal chair clattering to the ground. "Shut up!"

The entire room fell silent. It had been a long time since Ludwig had use his voice in that sort of command. He clenched his fists and beat them on the table, causing everyone to jump. "Yelling and screaming like five year olds throwing temper tantrums isn't going to get us anywhere. Have you ever heard of something called compromise? Huh?"

No one answered.

"How about this? We take your plan," he pointed at Elizaveta, "and use it as a decoy to distract the Russian army's attention while your plan," he shifted his finger toward Arthur, "is put into action in the background. We make it seem like all our resources are being used in a last ditch effort. Meanwhile, we'll infiltrate Russia's home while the majority of his forces have been drawn away by the sudden attack. That _should_ make it easier for us to execute the plan, yes?"

Antonio was the first to agree. He lowered his hands. "See, guys? We can work both ideas in. Agreed?"

Elizaveta glared daggers at him but nodded. Arthur mumbled a gruff agreement. With that settled, they got to work organizing their plan. Elizaveta took over the planning for her all out attack, arranging which regiments needed to be where when. Antonio volunteered to help her, leaving Arthur fewer choices for who to bring with him. They didn't want the humans involved with this. The covert operation would be a battle of nations and nations alone.

"Who to bring?" Arthur murmured to himself.

"I will go, _Angleterre_." Francis volunteered. Arthur jumped at his voice. It was the first thing Francis had said to him all day.

"Are you sure?"

"Quite." There was something in Francis' eyes that disturbed him, but Arthur wasn't couldn't be sure what it was. Francis had been acting strange since the London base raid, and Arthur was worried his long time friend was starting to lose it. Breaking his eyes from Francis', he shook the thought out of his head. This wasn't the time to try and pick at people's emotional problems. They were all hurting in their own ways, and the only way to remedy that was to take Russia down once and for all.

"Great. Now, who else? Ludwig, do you think Gilbert will be up to it?"

"No doubt." He answered. "Any opportunity for revenge will be his cup of tea."

Arthur nodded. "We need a few more though. I need to call Kiku and see if he can spare a Nordic or two. If only I could get in contact with Matthew…" His words faded. He _still_ hadn't heard from Matthew. He'd managed to get a hold of the Canadian forces, finally, but the general he'd spoken to had said Matthew had been on the front lines, which they'd lost contact with. Arthur felt a nervous pit grow in his stomach. Losing contact was never a good thing. For all he knew, Matthew was…

"I'll go."

The entire room went silent for the second time that day.

"What?" Arthur stared at Ludwig like he'd grown another head.

"I said, I'll go." Ludwig knew they'd react this way.

"No, you won't. Are you crazy?" Arthur stood up, sliding his chair backward in a sharp grind against the floor. "We can't let you do something this dangerous with us. If you die…"

"And if _you_ die, I won't be able to go home at all, will I Arthur?"

Arthur's words died on his lips. It was the truth, of course. If Arthur died on this mission, Ludwig would probably never get home. But how could he justify letting someone he'd promised to help participate in something that could very well be a suicide mission?

"I know exactly what you're thinking, Arthur, and I don't care. If nothing else, think of it as me protecting my interests. In order to get home, I need you. If you're going to be risking your life, then I need to be there to make sure don't die."

Arthur knew he couldn't fight Ludwig's decision. They needed all the help they could get. And Ludwig was a strong fighter and a good strategist. They could definitely use him. They really had no choice but to use him.

"All right." The tension in the room was tangible. "Welcome aboard then. Think you could help me with planning? I could use your expertise."

Ludwig nodded. "Of course."

In the back of his mind, Ludwig wondered what the repercussions of this would be. If he died here, would anyone at home ever find out what happened? The answer was probably not. Feliciano's face flashed through his mind. That was another thing. That was why he had to do this. If he stayed here and Arthur died (which was highly likely), Ludwig would spend the rest of his life without Feliciano. If he went and protected Arthur and they succeeded, then he'd be able to Feliciano again. If he went and they all died in combat, then what difference did it make? His options were pretty limited at this point. He had basically a one in three chance of ever seeing Feliciano again. Of ever getting home. Of ever having his normal life back. And he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try his hardest to make that chance a reality.

* * *

**Dro:** Aw, I always feel bad when I do something mean to Lithuania. He seems like such a nice person. Anyway...

**Next Chapter:** Lithuania explains the recent history of the world to America, who also discovers some very _interesting_ things about his parallel self. Meanwhile, France cracks and contacts the Italy brothers, informing them about the resistance plans. Russia is nothing but amused.


	7. A Blue Moon

**Dro:** I had fun writing this chapter. I love Lithuania in this. And Russia at the end because he's just so evil!

**Chapter Summary:** Lithuania explains the state of the world to America, as a well as a few things about parallel America that leaves the other one highly embarrassed. Meanwhile, France cracks and informs the Italy brothers about the resistance. Russia is highly amused.

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Toris sat against the wall, cradling one of his wrists in his lap. He hadn't said anything about it, but Alfred was sure he'd broken it earlier when he'd tackled the other man to the ground. Initially, he kind of felt bad, despite the fact that Toris was actively working for Russia. He felt even worse when Toris told him the reason _why_ he was working for Russia. He tried to imagine himself being forced into working for Russia under the threat of losing Matt or Arthur. He shuddered. That would be his worst nightmare.

Toris cleared his throat. "You wanted me to tell you about this world, right?"

Alfred nodded.

Toris looked up at the ceiling, as if he was thinking about how exactly to phrase his explanation. "Well, I am assuming there was a Soviet Union in your world as well?"

"Yeah. It collapsed back in the early nineties though."

"Hmm. Interesting." He took a deep breath. "Here, it never lost any strength. Instead, Ivan just continued to become stronger. He took over as many countries as he could manage in Eastern Europe and prodded China until he chose to join of 'his own free will.' After he had that much firepower in his possession, Ivan decided to execute his final plan: take over the entire world. I knew what he was planning, but he already had me in this bind, so I couldn't get the word out to stop him.

"He secretly garnered the help of several non-Soviet countries, including Italy…" he trailed off, cringing. "Anyway, they helped him stage a virtual coup in Europe, and Ivan gained another seven countries. At that point, the rest of the world was immensely alarmed, and they started to fight back. But it was too late. Ivan had gained too much power. He sent out pieces of his massive army all over the world, decimating nearly every African and South American country so he could use their resources at his whim. From there, he poised himself for an all out war on the remaining free world powers. Specifically, you."

"Me?" Well, it made sense. Russia would have had to focus on Alfred at some point. He couldn't help but wonder why he and Arthur and the others hadn't intervened sooner. "Hey, wait, did you say _Italy_ joined up with Russia?"

Toris' expression was grim. "As it turns out, the Italy brothers had been working for Ivan for many, many years. Until they betrayed their European friends, however, no one except the trio knew. Not even the others Soviets knew the Italy brothers were loyal to Russia. Their betrayal was an event that shocked the world. Those two bastards…" he growled. "I don't know how they can live with themselves. All the friends they've stabbed in the back. All the death and destruction they've caused. They're Ivan's favorite little assassins, taking lives without a second thought."

"They're assassins?" Alfred tried to picture the duo as cold-blooded killers, but he couldn't get a believable image. "I can't believe that!"

"Well, start. Because if they find out that you are here, they will be coming after you. And you will probably be one of the unlucky ones."

"Unlucky ones?" Alfred wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

"If you are lucky, they kill you quickly and that's it. If you are not, they beat the hell of you and take you to Ivan, who is not nearly as 'kind' when it comes to death."

A chill ran down Alfred's spine. "Oh, God…what the hell is wrong with this world?"

Toris scoffed. "That's what I've been asking myself for decades now."

"So…can you keep going?"

He sighed. "Well, after the initial attack, the remaining countries banded together to take Ivan down, but he was too powerful. He sent out thousands upon thousands of fighter jets that bombed every major city in the world. The alliance created to take him down became more like an underground resistance, but they were still going strong. Until…" Toris looked at him uneasily. "Until a few months ago."

Alfred felt his voice catch in his throat. He was pretty sure he knew what was coming, but he wanted confirmation anyway. "What happened a few months ago?"

Toris' voice was dead and flat. "Ivan destroyed the United States in a nuclear attack."

Alfred's heart skipped a beat. "Ah…" He couldn't form any words. His country had been destroyed here. Completely destroyed. And the other him… "So…so I died then?"

Toris shrugged. "You were in DC at the time, and DC was destroyed. No one has heard from you since. The odds of you surviving a direct nuclear explosion, especially while the rest of your country is crashing to the ground is highly unlikely. You have been considered dead by the world since then, and I am pretty sure you really are. Your country is dead, and your people have fled to Canada and Mexico in the wake of spreading radiation. America is a dead zone now."

Alfred couldn't meet Toris' eyes. He didn't want to hear any more about this. "Matt. Tell me about Matt."

Toris raised his eyebrows. "Canada's army grew substantially from the influx of Americans angry and ready to fight. Matthew himself is a great military leader, and he has been holding the North American front of the war by himself for several months now. He refuses to accept defeat. I believe he was greatly affected by your death, and it has changed him into a person bent on defeating Russia at all costs."

"That's my boy." Alfred smiled sadly. "So, what about the rest of the resistance?"

"Well, Arthur is leading it."

"He is?" Alfred cut him off before silencing himself, waving for Toris to continue.

"Yes. He has been the sole leader since your death. He commands all the bases in Europe and coordinates the attacks on Ivan's army. He's left Matthew and Kiku to handle their own fronts, which they've done pretty well up until now."

"Kiku is alive?"

"Yes. He's had China bearing down on him for some time, but he has held his ground. Now, he has the Nordics and Netherlands working with him. Their countries were completely destroyed during the bombings, and they are out for pure vengeance now. Last I heard, Yao has been having a rough time with the Nordics helping lead Kiku's army and the Netherlands creating their strategies."

Alfred let a dry laugh slip from between his lips. "Fighting to the bitter end. I knew I liked those guys for a reason."

A small smile pulled at the corner of Toris' lips. "They are certainly stubborn. I admire them for that."

Alfred frowned. "Toris, I'm sure no one blames you for…" He trailed off as he saw pain in Toris' eyes.

"You would be surprised how they feel about anything Soviet, Alfred. They know about Feliks, and they do not care. I am helping Ivan, and I am the enemy. Hands down. They would not hesitate to beat me senseless for information or shoot me dead in the battlefield. I am as much an enemy as the Italy brothers to them."

Alfred's heart felt heavy. "I still can't believe they…"

"Well, believe it. They are merciless killers. Ivan trained them to be that way. They are his right and left hands, and they carry out his judgment. Just over a week ago, they took out Roderich, you know?"

"They _killed_ Austria?"

"Without any hesitation. Despite the fact he was their caretaker for many years. The Italy brothers have no use for sentiments and fond memories. They do what Ivan commands them."

Alfred was still skeptical. He felt like he was missing something here. The Italy brothers couldn't just be heartless murderers. They had to have more depth than that. "Fine. I believe you." He lied. "So, do you happen to know where Arthur or my Germany might be?"

"In the same place, I'm sure. Germany was quickly found here by the resistance and rescued before Ivan could get his hands on him. He is helping them, I believe."

"Wait, they're in London?" Alfred felt his hope rising.

"Unfortunately, no. Ivan found the London base and had it destroyed a few days ago. Everyone from here has fled to the French base, which, of course, I do not know the whereabouts of."

Alfred's hopes shattered. "Great, so I need to get to France?"

Toris nodded. "If you wish to meet up with them, yes."

"Wonderful."

They sat in silence for several minutes. Feeling uncomfortable, Alfred blurted out: "So, what was the other me like?"

Toris raised his eyebrows. "Um…much like you. Very similar personality. Though you did have a reputation."

"What kind of reputation?" Alfred suddenly felt nervous.

"Well…" It was dark in the room, but Alfred still managed to spot Toris' blush. "Let's just say…you were known for being kind of a…how to say this in English…a 'player,' I believe."

"Huh?" He tried to picture himself being that kind of person but drew a blank. "So, you mean, I…"

"You got around."

"_Oh_." Alfred found himself blushing. Well, this was embarrassing. "So, how many people are we talking here?"

"Really?" Toris looked liked he didn't want answer the question.

"Sorry, I was just curious. That doesn't sound like me at all! I mean, I rarely ever even get into relationships like that, much less play people!" The image of Arthur popped into his head, but he shook it away.

"Then I guess you are a little different from our Alfred then."

"Wait, who would I even…get with?" He was drawing a blank.

Toris' eyebrow twitched, and he suddenly looked irritated. He stood up without warning and marched over to Alfred, squatting down in front him with a sour frown. "Let me see." He held his uninjured hand up. "In the last two years, you have been with Kiku." He held up a finger. "Netherlands." Another finger. "Spain." Another finger. "Australia." Another finger. "Portugal." A thumb. "And, oh yes!" Toris' hand shot out and grabbed his shirt, pulling him forward into a hard kiss. Alfred blanked as Toris kissed him passionately, the other man's blue eyes slipping closed briefly. The hand let go as the lips did, and Alfred slumped against the wall in shock. "How can I forget?" He pointed at himself. "Me."

_Oh shit! I've been talking to a scorned ex for the last two hours!_ Was all that was running through Alfred's head. Obviously, Toris was an ex, unless… "So…the two of us…"

"For six months. A record for you. And it was going well until I caught you cheating on me with Arthur."

Oh, Alfred was in _big_ trouble. "You know that wasn't _me_, right? That was the other America."

"Same face. Same voice. Same personality. Same person as far I'm concerned."

"But I'm not a cheater!"

"How do I know you're not lying about that? For all I know, you are just as much a whore in your world."

Alfred gaped. "Did you just call me a whore?"

Toris crossed his arms. "Maybe I did."

"You…you…this isn't fair! Stop taking your frustrations for a dead guy out on me!"

Toris snorted. "Whatever. I told you what you wanted to know. Now, will you let me leave?"

Hell, Alfred _wanted_ Toris to leave. "Sure. Go ahead."

Toris looked ready to walk out right there, but he hesitated. "So, you are not with anyone in your world?"

"Well…" Arthur's worried face popped into his. "Not exactly. Not yet anyway."

"Oh, but there is someone?" Toris' anger faded into genuine interest.

Alfred couldn't really deny it. "Yeah, there is." He smiled.

"Oh, who?"

Alfred was known to be kind of dumb sometimes, but even he knew better than this. Unfortunately, the idea that this was something he probably shouldn't tell Toris didn't pop into his head until after he'd said it. "Arthur."

Toris' looked at him in disbelief for several seconds before his rage exploded. The next thing Alfred knew, Toris' palm was slamming into his cheek, sending him sprawling to the floor again. "You jerk!" Toris fumed before slinging the door open and marching out. He didn't come back.

Alfred sat on the floor, holding his throbbing cheek in his hand and wondering when he'd become such an idiot. _I really don't like this world._

_

* * *

_

The rain came down in torrents, running down the panes of glass and obscuring his view of the outside the world. Another ring went by. He took a shaky breath. Any second now someone could come across him. Any second. Another ring. He was read to slam the damn receiver back on the phone. Then someone picked up.

"_Italy_." The twin voices answered.

Francis' stomached twisted. He spoke in hushed Russian, relaying everything he knew about the upcoming operation. He felt a knife through his heart at everyone word, but he felt it had to be done. Arthur was going on this mission. He was going to be in Ivan's house. And if Francis didn't tell Ivan about it ahead of time, then Ivan would _not_ keep his promise. Francis knew that very well. He finished speaking and waited for a reply.

Feliciano answered. "Thank you, Francis. This is most helpful."

"Please keep us updated." Lovino added.

He hung up without a response. _Damn those two_. If it wasn't for them, none of this would be happening to him.

* * *

'_I'll make you a promise, Francis.'_

_He coughed up more blood, the twin knives still pressed into his throat. They held his head up, forcing him to look at the imposing Russia. Neither brother spoke. They were stoic and heartless. They hadn't a care in the world about Francis' wellbeing. He coughed again. They'd completely and utterly deceived him._

'_I don't want your false promises, Ivan.'_

_Ivan chuckled. 'Trust me. I am sure this one will interest you. And if you keep your side of this little bargain, I will keep this promise no matter what.'_

_Francis was in no position to argue. 'What is it?'_

_Ivan smiled. _

_An hour later he was outside in the cold, the brothers dragging him away. _

_Feliciano spoke to him first, handing him an envelope. 'Here is your train ticket and enough money to get you back to Western Europe.'_

_He glared into the hard brown eyes of the boy he used to adore. 'Thanks.' He spat._

'_Don't be so rude, Francis. Or we will leave you with a parting _gift_. Ivan did not make any specifications saying we could not hurt you.' Lovino growled. He pushed Francis forward and turned away, Feliciano ahead of him. 'And don't forget your job, Francis. We'll be watching for any slip ups.'_

_They walked back toward the house's gates, not bothering to look back. _

'See you soon, Francis._' They said together, both holding up a single hand and waving him away. No, shooing him away. Like a dog. _

_

* * *

_

"Did you hear all of that, Ivan?" Feliciano turned around, eying the man who was rolling a pawn around in his fingers.

"Indeed I did." He sat the pawn down, smiling. "Most interesting."

Feliciano met his _fratello's_ eyes, the other boy silently telling him to keep it together. They both glanced at Ivan again. "_Preemptive action, sir?_"

Ivan cocked an eyebrow, his eyes staring intently at his chess board. The two black knights sat on either side of their king, the ultimate protection. A black rook sat on the white side, ready to strike intermittently. The white queen was long out of the game, followed recently by a knight and a white rook. The white had very few pawns left on its side, the lot of them being sacrificed for mostly ineffectual moves. Ivan just smiled.

"_Nyet._ Let them come." He stared at the white king, now protected only by a two bishops, a rook, and a knight. "This will be a good game, da?"

* * *

**Dro:** Ah, Russia and far-too-obviously symbolic chess game. I do love his characterization in this fic. Completely evil.

**Next Chapter:** The resistance starts to move toward Russia, England and his covert operation team breaking off from the group to slip into Russia secretly. Just as they start moving, however, England gets some very bad news about Canada. Meanwhile, America gets to France, only to realize he's just missed England and Germany. So he decides to follow them.


	8. A Crimson Sunset

**Dro:** I was afraid this was going to be boring, then it turned out like, really suspenseful. Awesome.

**Chapter Summary:** The resistance team heads into Russian territory after getting some bad news about Canada. Meanwhile, America arrives at the French base, only to realize he's missed England by mere hours.

**Warnings: **Violence

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

No one spoke for the first two hours. The only sounds came from the constant hum of the engine and the creaking of the metal as the truck hit bumps along the road. Arthur sat across from him, his nearly permanent frown taking over his expression. But whereas the usual frown contained annoyance, irritation, and anger, his current one was a pool of utter sorrow. Ludwig couldn't help but feel sympathy the man. Arthur had lost his homeland, his people, his old life. Alfred.

And now he'd lost Matthew too.

Ludwig had been helping his _bruder_ load up the trucks for their trip to the Eastern Front when they'd gotten the call. All of them had gathered in the meeting room at Francis' request, wondering what was going on_. _To their dismay, a sobbing Arthur, supported by Antonio, was led into the room. Francis, eyes red and bloodshot, had explained they'd received a call from the Canadian army.

Two days ago, the Canadian generals had finally reestablished contact with the front lines where Matthew had been stationed. And that's when they'd gotten the news. Nearly a week ago, Matthew had been executing a strategic move to take out a regiment of Russian soldiers. They'd snuck up behind the Russian regiment and started taking out the soldiers with ease. Unbeknownst to Matthew, however, the Russians had intercepted his plans, and another regiment was ordered to sneak up on the Canadians from behind, throwing Matthew's strategy right back at him.

It had been a bloodbath. Fighting from both sides, the Canadians had quickly worn out, and Matthew had been trapped in the middle of it all. Every single soldier in the regiment had been killed. Matthew's whereabouts were still unknown, but the fighting was still escalating in the same area. The likelihood of him having survived that initial battle was pretty much zero. And if he had, by some miracle, lived, he was either a prisoner of war or out there slowly dying of his injuries on the field. Either way, he would end up dead in the end. Russia did not keep prisoners for long.

Arthur had broken down in front of them, becoming a sobbing mess curled up in the corner. No one could console him. Francis hadn't fared much better. Ludwig was sure he hadn't heard Arthur speak a single word for the entire day. The man just sat in his seat and stared solemnly out the window. Francis sat next to him, arms crossed, eyes unfocused. Ludwig swallowed, his throat dry. This was why they had to go through with this. This was why they had to succeed. The death needed to stop. Russia needed to be stopped.

Once they got within three hours of the front, the group finally parted ways. Ludwig, Arthur, Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert would be going to Russia. They had decided to bring in the Netherlands to help Elizaveta on the Eastern Front, freeing up Antonio's much needed skills for Arthur's plan. They stood awkwardly around each other next to the vehicles, no one saying a single word for several minutes. Elizaveta finally cracked. She rushed over to him and Gilbert, hugging them tightly.

"Be careful, you two."

"And you, Liz." Gilbert hugged her back. It was the first time Ludwig had seen the two of interact without a fight in years.

Elizaveta's actions started a chain reaction, old friends embracing tightly for what could very well be the last time. If they failed, it would be. And there was no guarantee that all of them would survive this even if they did win. Finally, they climbed back into their separate vehicles and took off in opposite directions. Antonio had determined a prime location for them to sneak into Russian territory without being seen. As they closed in on the border, Ludwig noticed the signs of recent battles all around the scarred land. Some buildings were still smoking, and in the distance, he could see a section of forest was actively on fire.

About half an hour from the border—according to Francis—they stopped for good. From here, they would walk. It had been explained in detail that watchmen dotted every spec of land starting a few miles up. Most of them doubled as snipers, and they were ready to take out anyone who dared attempt to cross into Russian territory. Antonio had picked a place where the line of watchmen was its thinnest. As night fell, there would be a change of guard that gave them a span of about ten minutes to get past the border.

Without speaking, they unloaded their weapons and supplies and slipped on their packs. It was going to be a rough trek. They stashed the truck in an abandoned building—one of the few still standing—and started on their way. The silence was still thick, and even though Ludwig generally liked peace and quiet, this kind of silence was unnerving. The town they were passing through had been completely destroyed. And it had happened a long time ago. Nature had already started taking over the place. Vines and flowers crawled up and blanketed fallen buildings. Animals were living inside places once populated by people. It was a sad sight to begin with, knowing that at some point in the not too distant past, innocent people had lived here in peace, only to have their lives destroyed by war.

Now, it was just a creepy place. The fact that no one would start up a chat wasn't helping. The atmosphere was cold and solemn, and the feeling he got as he surveyed the town, thick shadows hiding who knew what, made him shudder. Finally, after about twenty minutes, they left the town behind. Before them was a thick forest, lush and green. It was scarred too, however. A couple of black patches along the tree line indicated battles had been fought here in the past. But where human society failed to recover, nature would always return.

Antonio, who was leading the group, held up his hand. They all stopped and watched as he pulled out his binoculars. "We're going to have be careful. The scouts are at the edge of the forest waiting." He motioned for them to follow him, and they turned in a different direction, entering the beginning of the brush by hiding behind various remnants of vehicles and ruined fences. They dropped to a crouch, and Antonio peered around a half-destroyed brick wall (belonging to some sort of old outpost). "We're clear. Let's move fast. We need to get way past the scout group before the change of guard."

The finally slipped into the woods. The sun was sinking in the distance, and Ludwig started to worry they wouldn't make it to the border line before the change of guard. If that happened, they'd be trapped. The scouts would be doing a sweep back toward them while the main line would be trapping them on this side of the border. Antonio seemed to realize they were running behind, and he flicked his fingers forward, indicating for them to move faster.

Suddenly, a loud crack broke the silence. They scattered, all pressing their backs to different trees. The sound of footsteps on dirt came into range. Another crack sounded. The sound of someone breaking a branch with their feet. Ludwig jumped as the loud static of a walkie-talkie flared up from nowhere. A string of rushed Russian was spoken into it, and Ludwig had the terrible thought that the man knew they were there. He was now vividly aware of all his gear. Several knives were attached to his belt and boots. He had four different handguns and a semi-automatic rifle strapped to him. His fingers twitched, his body screaming at him to defend himself, but he knew better. He'd been in enough war battles to know when to hold back.

Eventually, the footsteps faded into the distance along with the static. The tension that had built up in him finally dispersed, and he took a deep breath. He glanced at his comrades, who all looked relieved. Francis looked at Antonio and mouthed something at him. Antonio shook his head. Francis held up a thumb at him and Gilbert, indicating they were good to go. Arthur started walking again without so much as a glance back at his friends.

Another ten minutes and it was dangerously close to sunset. Antonio had given them the signal that they were approaching the main line of watchmen, and they all sank into a crouching walk, lowering themselves into the thick brush. Thorns snagged at Ludwig's clothing, but he ignored them, focusing only on the path ahead of them. They went over a small hill, Antonio immediately signaling for them to stop. Ludwig spotted the guards about fifteen feet away. When Antonio had said a line of watchmen, he meant it. All in a row along another small hill were about ten guards. They were spaced about ten feet apart, each armed and ready with a rifle.

In position, they waited. The sun sank lower on the horizon, and Ludwig found himself fidgeting. It had been a long time since he'd done anything quite this dangerous. Finally, the guards moved. Without saying a word, they split off in two directions at a quick march. Antonio held up his hand, palm facing away from them, telling them not to move just yet. The sound of footsteps began to fade. Antonio gave the signal. The moved slowly, trying to cause as little noise as possible.

They hit the hill, and a small feeling of triumph sprouted in Ludwig's mind. The climbed over it and started making their way down. Everything was working. Everything...A strangled cry broke out behind him, and he whipped around to see Gilbert tripping over something and tumbling face first into the ground. Ludwig rushed back to help him up, the rest of the group frozen in place. He pulled his _bruder_ up, wondering what he could've possibly tripped on. Then he saw it. On the ground was a round metal plate that connected to a wire that connected to another plate and kept repeating that way, the rest of the mechanism hidden from view. The set up had been buried just under the surface of the ground.

A motion detector.

Ludwig pulled Gilbert into a run, his panicked state obviously alerting the others. The broke into a frightened sprint, the sounds of incoming footsteps following ominously behind. Shouts broke out behind them followed swiftly by a barrage of bullets. They bit into tree trunks, sending splinters flying in all directions. One bullet grazed Arthur's shoulder, and he stumbled but caught himself in time. They kept running and running, the watchmen pursuing them for well over a mile. Then, everything got quiet.

They slowed to a rapid walk, all eyes darting around. Arthur spoke his first words of the day. "We need to get our first point. Keep moving." He gulped in air, a line of dark blood visible on his jacket even in the darkness. "Don't be fooled. They're still pursuing us. They've just gone to call reinforcements and get vehicles. We have to keep going."

By the time they finally stopped an hour later, Ludwig was exhausted. His pack felt like a bag of cinderblocks. His legs felt like jelly, his knees shaking as they tried to hold him up. Nearby, a small town was visible only by the dim lights that dotted the landscape. Arthur nodded toward it, still catching his breath. "That's our first stop. An informant of ours has agreed to provide lodging for the night."

Ludwig looked at the small town again, a sense of relief adding to his fatigue. Gilbert, rubbing his sore back, patted his _bruder_ on the shoulder. "Let's go get some sleep, West."

* * *

To say Alfred was disappointed didn't even begin to cover it. He was tired. He was dirty. And he'd been going for the last thirty-two hours on the assumption that once he found this small town in the middle of nowhere, he'd be able to meet up with Arthur. Except he hadn't. The guards at the military facility had told him he'd missed Arthur by mere hours. The "Marshall" was out on a mission. What mission? Alfred didn't know because it was apparently "top secret."

Which mean his entire journey to get here, from haggling his beloved jacket for a boat ride across the English Channel, to having to help a woman basically rebuild her kitchen in exchange for a car ride to as close to the town as the lady was willing to take him, to the four hour walk the rest of way had all been in vain. Because not only could he not get to Arthur, but the stupid guards wouldn't even let him in the base. So Alfred was now sitting across from it, leaning against a rundown building. The base was disguised as another rundown building. At least he hoped it was, or he felt really bad for the resistance.

The guards just stood there glaring at him, and he glared back. Eventually, one of them said some sort of code into his walkie-talkie, and Alfred assumed they were doing something to try and get rid of him. And of course, they were. Ten minutes a later, a military truck pulled with several armed men in it. They rushed over to him, ordering him to stand and vacate the premises immediately.

"Or what? You'll shoot me?"

"That's exactly what we'll do." A man in uniform approached him, a scowl on his face. That is, until he got close enough to really see Alfred. Then his anger morphed into shock. "You…" His said breathlessly. "You can't be…"

Alfred realized the man recognized him. _Ah, he knew the other me. Well, I suppose I could always play this angle._ "Guess I've been away for a while, huh?" Alfred smiled sheepishly. The man looked like he couldn't come up with a coherent thought.

"Sir?" One of the soldiers said. "What's going on? Who is he?"

A look of awe had settled on the man's face. "This man. This man is…" Alfred wondered if everyone knew about nations in this world. It seemed logical considering Russia himself was the one leading the Soviet Union. If this had been his own world, he would've been out of luck, but he seemed to have struck gold in this place. So he just smiled.

"Sir?" The soldiers looked immensely confused.

"This man should be dead." He took a step forward, his eyes shifting over Alfred's tired form. "How are you even alive?"

Alfred shrugged. "Beats me." _Play the game, Alfred. Just play the game. _"But I've been trying to get here for a while now. Think you could let me in and tell me where Arthur's run off to?"

The man nodded. "Right away, sir."

"Sir?" One of them asked. "What's going on? Who is this man?"

The officer turned back toward them, a gleam of hope in his eyes. "This is the United States of America."

* * *

**Dro:** Well look at that, Alfred can make intelligent decisions!

**Next Chapter:** America heads toward Russia as Germany and the team head close in on Moscow. Meanwhile, Lithuania arrives back at Russia's home, only to suffer through an interrogation by a very suspicious Russia.


	9. A Violet Morning

**Dro: **Lot's of America in this chapter. Should be getting back to Italy at some point soon.

**Chapter Summary:** After finding out where England and Germany have gone, America decides to follow them into Soviet territory. Unfortunately, things don't go as planned. Meanwhile, an angry and suspicious Russia brutally interrogates Lithuania.

**Warnings: **Violence/Moderate Depictions of Torture

**Disclaimer: **Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Alfred took a deep breath and looked himself over. The officer had provided him with a change of clothes—his were mucked up beyond help—and he felt a stiff in a military uniform. It had been a while since he'd dressed like a military officer, and the prim, pressed fabric and shiny black boots brought back memories he preferred to keep buried. At least he looked good. He toweled off his damp hair again, feeling renewed. That shower had done him wonders. He hadn't even realized how damn dirty he was. He looked like he'd been living in the woods for a year.

Tossing the towel on the very basic bed, he headed for the door, hesitating as he reached for the handle. The looks he'd gotten from people on the base made him cringe. Hope. Happiness. Relief. Guilt nearly consumed him. He was deceiving these people for his own gain. Despite the fact he'd been required to do this on missions in the past, it never sat well with him. He hated tricking other people like this. It was cruel. But he had no other choice. He needed their resources and their help. Without them, he wouldn't be able to find Germany and get home.

The officer, a Colonel apparently, had invited him to dinner. He'd promised to tell Alfred all about what Arthur and the others were up to. Apparently, he was in command here at the base. That fact made Alfred suspicious. Wouldn't there be a General in command at one of their major bases? If the Generals weren't at the bases, then where they? Alfred got a sinking feeling he knew, but he tried to ignore it (at least until he got confirmation). Finally, he opened the door and left the room.

His reception was about what he expected. Soldiers stared in awe. Many recognized him, and others were whispering about who he could possibly be to be treated to so well by their commanding officer. He tried his best to ignore him, but he felt like there was a spotlight beaming down right on top of him. When he made it to the room the Colonel had showed him earlier, he found the man waiting for him there with several others. Alfred's eyes immediately went to the food on the table, and he was surprised they could manage such dinners in such a distressing time. He hoped the man wasn't pulling out all the stocks for him.

"Ah, there you are! Please sit down, sir." The Colonel motioned with his hands to the seat beside him.

Alfred pulled out a chair and sank into it, meeting the eyes of several other officers who all seemed equally confused at his presence.

"Gentlemen, surely you recognize our guest?" The Colonel asked.

"Of course. Mr. America, sir." A man with striking red hair and an obvious Scottish accent answered. "It's been way too long, sir. We've all been thinking you were long gone."

"How on Earth did you survive?" A second officer—a Spaniard—added. "We all thought you took a direct hit from a bomb. Weren't you in the capital?"

"Actually, I wasn't." _Think on your feet, Alfred._ "I had already left the city when the bombs hit. Turns out I was just out of range. Any closer and I probably wouldn't have escaped."

One of them whistled. "Close call, then?" A German man asked. "You're quite lucky. But, I have to wonder. What took you so long to get here? Surely you could've gone to Canada and contacted us, yes?"

"Actually, I couldn't. The entire country was panicking. Refugees from the cities were fleeing north and south. The army was decimated. And then, of course…"

"The Reds moved in." The Scottish man finished.

_Well, that wasn't what I was going to say, but thanks! _"Exactly. I was barely able to smuggle myself out of the country. But I had to go south. From there, I stowed away on a freighter that passed through the English channel and docked at a port there."

"A Red freighter?" The Spaniard asked.

Alfred nodded.

The German man scoffed. "Of course it was a Red freighter. Bastards taking over all our ports, though I don't guess we could've really defended it seeing as we'd already left."

Alfred sighed. "Wish I'd known that. I snuck off in England and headed to London, only to realize the base had been destroyed."

"Ah, sorry about that." The Scottish officer said. "We'd only lost it a few days ago then."

"Yeah, anyway, I figured you guys would've moved here, so here I am." Alfred finally picked up his fork and started eating. The food was decent, especially for wartime, but the lack of quality made him miss home more.

"That's quite a journey, sir." The Colonel said.

Alfred nodded slowly, chewing his food. The rest of the dinner was filled with much less serious talk. Alfred thanked God for that. He hated coming up with lies on the spot. Personally, he hated lying period. After they finished, the other officers excused themselves, leaving Alfred alone with the Colonel. As soon as the door closed behind them, Alfred felt the mood instantly change. The Colonel eyes met his, something serious and dangerous lingering in them.

"So, what's your plan of action, sir?" He swirled around the remaining tea in his cup.

"Huh?"

"What're you planning to do now?"

"Well, I was hoping you'd tell me where Arthur was."

"Well, yes. But, aren't you going to take command here?"

Alfred's breath caught in his throat. _Of course_ the man would want him to take up a role as a General in this war. That's what the other him had been. That's what they still considered him to be, obviously. But Alfred couldn't possibly do that. He had to get Germany and go home to _his_ Arthur, who was worriedly waiting for him to return. He couldn't stay here and fight a war in a parallel world.

"Actually, I have something else I need to do."

The Colonel raised an eyebrow. "And what might that be?"

"I have an important piece of information that Arthur needs to hear about Russia." The man opened his mouth to speak, but Alfred cut him off. "It's something I've deemed top secret. My apologies. But it's something Arthur has to hear. As soon as possible. "

"Something that could mean life or death?"

"Possibly. Depending on the current situation with the war." _Lies. All lies. I am an evil, terrible person._

The Colonel looked pale. "This is a very bad situation then. Marshal Kirkland and a team of the other nations are all on Russian territory as we speak and closing in on Russia's estate."

"What?" Alfred's blood ran cold.

"The tide of the war has long been in Russia's favor. It was decided that we would either have to strike now with everything we had, or we would inevitably slowly collapse under the weight of Russia's army. All the main forces are moving for a direct confrontation with the Russian army on the Eastern Front, and Marshal Kirkland is leading a covert operation to assassinate Russia himself."

"And…who exactly is with Arthur?"

"Um…Spain, France, Prussia, and Germany."

"Germany?"

"Yes. It was remarkable they found him alive. All of us thought he was assassinated by the Italy brothers months ago. But only Marshal Kirkland and your fellow nations really knew what was happening. It was something that was kept under wraps. Probably in order to keep morale up. But, he joined us a couple of weeks ago, perfectly healthy. We were all relieved."

_In other words, they decided to let the Germany from my world join in the war and let the soldiers think theirs was still alive. _Alfred found himself slightly annoyed at that. He knew Germany wouldn't dare turn down a chance to help his comrades win a war like this, but nevertheless, he was pissed that Arthur, who would know better, had allowed him to do it.

"Can you tell me exactly what route they're taking?"

The Colonel, wide-eyed, shook his head. "Top secret. It's above me. But I do know where they were planning to cross the border."

"Tell me."

The Colonel gaped. "You can't be serious, sir. You can't be thinking of…"

"I'm dead serious. I'm leaving in the morning." Alfred couldn't just stand by and let Germany risk his life. How could he live it down if he came back without Germany? How could he possibly tell Italy that Germany was dead? He couldn't risk that. He had to go after them. His job was bringing back Germany—alive—and he'd be damned if he was going to fail because of a setback like this. Plus, without Arthur, there would be no getting back at all. If Arthur died on this mission, Alfred _and_ Germany could be trapped in this world. Forever.

* * *

The backpack bounced as it hit another bump in the road. Alfred kept his eyes open and alert. The wind rushed past his helmet, ruffling his leather coat. He gripped the handlebars tighter and sped up, zipping by ruined buildings on both sides. The Colonel had tried his best to stop Alfred from going, but Alfred had just evaded him and snuck out earlier, jacking a bike from the base's garage along with some appropriate clothing from their surplus room. He'd located exactly where he needed to go and had made sure he knew what obstacles he would face.

He'd read up on the apparent deadliness of the Red watchmen who guarded the border. Alfred grinned. This would be a challenge the likes of which he hadn't faced in years. It was kind of exciting. Scarred landscapes flickered by him in a blur. All of Europe was like this now, Alfred thought. _It's probably even worse than World War II._ Alfred shuddered at the thought. _And it's not just Europe anymore. The whole world is probably like this. My homeland is like this._

Alfred felt a hint of anger rise up for Russia. He and Ivan got along in their world now. The animosity between them had begun to dissolve with the Soviet Union. They had actually had chats as friends. They'd made progress. And now here he was in a world where the Soviet Union had taken over and destroyed everything in its path. A world where Russia still hated him. A world where Russia _had_ destroyed him with nuclear bombs. Every fear Alfred had ever had about the Soviet Union had come true in the world. This place was like some kind of nightmare turned reality.

The ride was long, and Alfred started to feel cramped after a while. When he finally spotted the ruins of the town in the distance, he felt relieved. _Of course I shouldn't. Now I have to face the watchmen. _He pulled the bike to a stop and got off, the world immediately going quiet. He knew he needed to wait for the changing of the guard, but he already wanted to leave this place. It was…so dead. The images of pure ruin and degradation sent chills down his spine.

It also looked like it was about rain. Yeah, that was just he needed. To sneak into Soviet territory soaked to the bone. He pushed the bike further into town, flipping down the kickstand and leaving it standing next to a half-crumbled wall. He took a look around, searching the ruins for any sign of life other than creeping vines and invading grass. He walked around for over an hour, waiting for the sun to sink toward the horizon. But the clouds started to roll in, dark and ominous, and the sun was cloaked beneath them. Alfred would have to go by his watch now, but he didn't know exactly what time the guard changed.

Taking a deep breath, he tightened the straps of his bag and started heading towards the forest. The day had quickly darkened into pseudo-night, shadows hanging over everything. Alfred felt the hair standing up on the back of his neck, and he shivered, wishing the rain would come to drown out the eerie silence. The only sound at all was the sound of his footsteps and breath. There were no birds chirping, no animals scurrying, no wind rustling leaves. Nothing. The atmosphere was so uneasy that his body was actually telling him to turn around and run for life.

But he managed to keep his cool. He took out a pair of binoculars and surveyed the forest. With the faded light, it was hard to make out shapes hiding within the trees, but Alfred was sure he caught movement. He squatted down and move forward carefully, using any of the remaining ruins as a hiding place. The majority of the buildings were behind him now, and he felt far too exposed. He—something thumped behind him.

He whipped around, only to see…nothing. His hands went for the guns strapped to his chest. Another thump. This time he froze, trying to locate the origin. Hearing nothing more, he turned back around. And came face to face with a watchmen.

He ducked as the rifle fired and sent his fist into the man's gut. The man flew backwards several feet, his gun discharging again as stunned fingers pulled the trigger. The bullet whizzed past Alfred's head. Close. Too close. And too loud. Shouts sounded off from the forest, hurried footsteps charging forward, sounding like an army on the move.

And Alfred stood completely exposed in the open with nowhere to hide.

* * *

Ivan paced and forth with a deceptively leisurely gait. Irritated? Yes. On his last nerve? Yes. He stopped in front of the man in the chair, whose head hung limply, blood oozing from the lacerations on his forehead and temple. Ivan stood facing him with his hands behind his back. He cracked his fingers.

"I'm going to ask you again, Toris. _Who_ did you meet with in London?"

The man didn't answer. Growling, Ivan grabbed the man's hair and yanked his head. Toris whimpered, and Ivan pulled at it harder. "Answer me. You answer me right now or I'll blow Feliks' brains out right in front of you."

Toris gaped. "I…" He coughed, blood dripping down his chin. "I…didn't meet…with anyone." His breathing was labored. "My jet was taken down by the enemy."

"Oh, really?" Ivan sank down to his level. "And would you mind telling me what kind of enemy throws _vehicles_ at fighter jets?"

"I…don't…know…I didn't…I didn't find him."

Ivan smiled. He grabbed Toris' good wrist and snapped it in half. Toris screamed, his voice echoing off the walls. "If you didn't find him Toris, then why did it take so long for your comrades to locate you? They were very explicit in their details, Toris. You disappeared for a few hours. Why couldn't they find you?" Toris whimpered again. "Fine, let me ask you this. What did the man look like?"

"I don't…"

"Yes, you do know. Your comrades were able to describe him. You were even closer than they were. What short-haired, blond man has enough strength throw vehicles?" He screamed in Toris' face. "Answer me, Toris!"

After first, he thought Toris was sobbing. But he realized moments later that the man was laughing. Dry. Hysterical. Vengeful. Smug. "What kind of interrogation is this, Ivan, when you already know the answer?"

Ivan reeled backward in rage, whipping his gun from its holster and pointing it straight at Toris' head. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you."

Toris looked from the gun to Ivan and back again, something akin to relief flashing through his eyes. "There's never…been a good reason for that, Ivan. So I don't see…why you're asking that question now."

Ivan's fury exploded, and he bared his teeth. He turned around to try and contain it, facing the door, his free hand on the knob. But it got the best of him. Grinding his teeth together, he whipped around and pointed the gun at Toris' forehead.

He pulled the trigger.

* * *

**Dro: **Uh oh, Alfred, you're in a bind now. And did I just kill off Lithuania? It wouldn't surprise me if I did. I have a long-standing tradition of killing multiple characters in every story I write.

**Next Chapter:** Alfred fights his way through the watchmen, only to be saved by a mysterious someone. Meanwhile, an upset Italy spars with Romano, rekindling old emotions he'd long buried away.


	10. A Silver Lining

**Dro: **Last day before classes start, guys! Expect an erratic update schedule starting tomorrow. I'll still be writing the chapters in the same story order, but updates might (read: probably won't) be daily. At first, I might manage most days, but don't expect a lot of updates during exam times. Other than that, I should have most chapters out within two or three days max. It takes me about 2 hours to write and edit a chapter, so you shouldn't usually have to wait but a little while longer. We'll see how things work out, yeah?

**Chapter Summary:** America fights his way through the watchmen, only to be saved by a mysterious man in black. Meanwhile, the Italy brothers have a brutal, emotionally-charged sparring match that doesn't end well for one of them.

**Warnings: **Violence, Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro will never own APH.

* * *

One of them hurtled into a tree, his skull cracking open with a sickening crunch. He ducked as a bullet grazed his cheek. His leg shot out and kicked another in the chest. Ribs cracked. The man went down screaming. A bullet lodged itself in his arm, and he cried out but kept fighting. He held up his gun and fired, one bullet embedding itself in a forehead, the other in a chest. Both men were dead when they hit the ground. He tucked and rolled as a barrage of rifle fire ate away at the ground where he'd been standing.

Righting himself, Alfred ran for it. He'd broken the line of watchmen, giving himself an opening toward the border. Sharp pains ran up his arm, blood dripping from the wound and staining his sleeve. He needed to get the bullet out, but he didn't have time yet. They were pursuing at a rapid pace. Bullets splintered the wood of trunks left and right as he wove around them. He wasn't sure how far the border was from here, but he was determined to keep running until he these bastards were out of sight.

With the little light he had left, Alfred navigated his way through thick vines and brush. He leapt over a prickly bush, almost losing his footing, and kept running. The shouts of the watchmen were fading into the distance, and he felt a distinct sense of triumph. He'd made it past them with only a single, non-life-threatening wound! Ha! He strode over a small hill and kept a brisk pace, his eyes straining to see in the rising darkness. He turned his head and looked back to find that the watchmen had vanished. _Yes, thank God!_

He looked forward. And ran straight into the butt of a rifle. The force of the impact flipped him backward, causing him to land awkwardly on his injured arm. A scream of both pain and surprise escaped from his throat. He rolled over and opened his eyes, his face meeting a rifle aimed right at his head. The watchmen it belonged to glared down at him, a warning in his eyes. It read "Move, and I'll kill you."

Alfred panicked. _Shit! What do I do?_ He could hear the other watchmen approaching again. Flashlights lit up the area as five of them approached. _I'm so dead._ They aimed at him.

"Hands up." One of them barked.

Alfred hesitantly raised his hands, wincing as another wave of pain ran through his arm. Two pairs of hands roughly grabbed him and pulled his arms back, and he bit back a yelp. A pair of handcuffs (that Alfred could easily break) snapped around his wrists. _They don't realize my strength yet. I still have the element of surprise. _

"Disable him."

_Wait, what?_

A hand pushed him to the ground, and he turned his head to watch in horror as two of the men aimed rifles at the back of his knees. _Oh, shit no!_ He glanced around frantically, trying to find an escape route, but there wasn't one in sight. _Shit! Shit! Shit! _One of them moved to pull the trigger, and Alfred closed his eyes.

Shots fired.

None hit him.

He wrenches his eyelids open to see watchmen falling left and right. A figure dressed in black appeared out of nowhere and punched one of them, his limp body flinging into a nearby tree. Swift and deadly, the man broke the necks of two others before they could even get a shot out. Alfred found himself tugged off the ground with a gun pressed to his head. The only remaining watchmen was using him as a captive. The man in black faltered for a brief moment. Alfred wanted to see the man's face, but it was obscured with a black helmet.

The watchmen and the man were at a stalemate. If the watchmen shot Alfred, the man would kill him, but if the man tried to save Alfred, the watchmen would kill him. It was a lose-lose situation. Alfred realized the watchmen was just using him a diversion to gain time. If the entire border was patrolled by watchmen, then that meant others could be arriving at any moment.

Alfred also realized that the mysterious man knew this. His eyes drifted down to the man's hand, where a symbol Alfred completely recognized had been formed. He had no idea who this guy was, but he liked his style. In the span of a second, Alfred broke the handcuffs, broke from the watchmen's grasp, and ducked, the mysterious man immediately firing off a round into the watchmen's head. The guard went down without another sound. Alfred hopped up just as the man reached him and grabbed him by his good arm, tugging him along at a rapid pace.

The man paused briefly when he realized that Alfred was bleeding. He grabbed Alfred's injured arm, causing him to yelp. Without a sound, the man reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a knife.

"Uh, what are you planning to do with that?"

The man didn't answer. Before Alfred could react, the man tore his sleeve open and plunged the knife into the bullet wound, popping the small piece of metal right out and onto the ground. Alfred bit back a scream, a high-pitched whine breaking through his lips. The man then pulled out some gauze and tape, constructing a makeshift bandage that he stuck to Alfred's arm. In disbelief, Alfred just stared at the man, who shrugged and grabbed his uninjured arm again.

Wordlessly, the man dragged him through the dense woods, Alfred spotting a clearing through the forest. When they reached it, Alfred saw the man had stashed a motorcycle (not unlike the one Alfred had driven earlier) under a pile of leaves. The man heaved the bike up and signaled for Alfred to hop on. The bike roared to life as Alfred situated himself on the back. The man took off, Alfred clinging lightly to the man's coat. He took note of the man's uniform. It reminded him of a SWAT team uniform. Only more stylish, he mused.

For nearly half an hour (Alfred had long lost track of time in the darkness), they drove silently, leaving the woods behind for a what appeared to be a back road. Alfred wondered who the man could possibly be and why he'd chosen to risk his life like that. How had he even known Alfred was in trouble? Or maybe he was on another mission of some kind, and he'd stumbled across Alfred by accident? Alfred shook his head. There were a hundred possibilities. Hopeful that the man wound eventually talk to him, Alfred kept his mouth shut.

Eventually, he spotted a town in the distance. It grew in size as they approached. The bike threw up dust as they left the road they'd been on, tires hitting dirt. The man pulled the bike to a stop, and Alfred hopped off. He watched as the man opened up a small shed and rolled the motorcycle in, closing and locking it behind him. The man held up two fingers and beckoned for Alfred to follow him inside the quaint home across the yard. Wary, Alfred followed him with tense steps, ready to run at a moment's notice.

The man opened the door of the house without knocking. Alfred blinked as light flooded his vision, and he stepped into the warmth of a well-lit home. The man closed the door behind him and walked off to the right, taking a sharp turn into a different room without another word.

"Uh…hey, wait a second…"

"Did you find him, dear?" An older woman, plump and cheery, came around another corner, drying her hands on a dish rag. She stopped as she spotted him, her eyes widening in bewilderment. She shook it off. "Ah, where is that boy now? I apologize for his rudeness, dear." She addressed Alfred. "Are you hungry?" Her thick German accent paired with her cheeriness made her seem like the perfect, stereotypical image of an older mother.

"Um, actually…" His stomach growled loudly. "Yes, I am."

"Well, come on then! I have dinner ready."

Alfred followed her into a small, cozy kitchen. Loads of piping hot food were lined up on the table, some of it still steaming. Alfred felt his mouth water. _I'm not dreaming, right?_ The woman ushered him into a chair and told him to eat whatever he wanted. She trudged out of the room. He sat there, completely lost, for several minutes. Then he shrugged and started eating. He had no idea what most of these foods were, and he really didn't care. It was all delicious, and he was really hungry.

After about ten minutes of eating alone, he heard the woman whispering as she approached the kitchen again. Alfred glanced at a mirror hanging on the wall, spotting the woman and the mysterious man speaking. The man still had his helmet on. He couldn't help but be a little irritated. This guy had saved his life. There was no reason to be so secretive. The woman reentered the kitchen.

"How's the food, dear?"

"It's delicious, ma'am. Thank so much!" He took a gulp of tea.

"Not a problem, dear! I love having guests for dinner. And I love it when they're nice and polite. Unlike a certain someone I know." She flicked her eyes behind him, where Alfred knew the mysterious man was standing.

"Are you calling me rude? I'm offended!" A far too familiar voice said behind him. Alfred whipped around, his fork clattering to the floor. The man had removed his helmet, revealing his face in full. Alfred could only stare. A gurgling noise broke free from his throat, a shaky finger raising and pointing.

"Y…y...y…"

The man chuckled. "Surprised?"

Alfred gaped, his vocal chords failing him for several seconds. When they finally started working again, the only coherent thing that his brain could muster was:

"Holy shit!"

* * *

Metal slid against metal, sharp clanks ringing throughout the room. Feliciano dodged gracefully, the deadly dance he'd played with his _fratello_ countless times in the past back in session again. Lovino tossed another knife at full speed, and Feliciano caught it, throwing it back at the same speed. His other half dodged, the blade whizzing past his face and burying itself in the wall. In the time it took his _fratello_ to move to the right, Feliciano caught up to him, throwing a punch. Lovino barely dodged it, the fist catching several hairs. Lovino responded with a well aimed kick, but Feliciano spun out of its way and countered with his own.

His boot grazed his _fratello's_ cheek, but Lovino didn't falter. Instead, he spun on his heels and used the momentum to throw another powerful kick toward his younger sibling. Feliciano ducked, his hand shooting out grabbing his Lovino's ankle as it zipped past. Lovino gasped at his _fratello_ pulled him forward, costing him his balance. He felt to the ground, his back slamming into the practice mat. Just as he caught his breath, Feliciano came at him with another knife. Lovino rolled out of the way, the knife ripping into the mat where his face had been moments before.

Feliciano was not usually this serious. Lovino knew his _fratello's _emotions were running wild, and he felt a pang of guilt. This was his fault after all. He knew Ivan suspected the truth, which was exactly why Feliciano had been given the mission to assassinate the other Germany. Ivan had given him a list of missions to complete while Feliciano had only the one. Ivan wanted to make sure there was no interference. He wanted to see whether Feliciano could do it or not. Truthfully, Lovino was not sure either way.

His _fratello_ had changed over the past few months. Lovino dodged an elbow. Feliciano's carefree attitude had been dropped in favor of something a bit more sinister and serious. Lovino knew that was partially his fault, and he felt the guilt from it every single day. A knee slid past his abdomen, the force of it skewing his shirt to the side. It was the guilt he felt when he watched his brother kill another without a hint of emotion in his eyes. It was the guilt he felt when he saw his brother break down time and time again. It was the guilt he felt when he caught sight of the lifeless eyes his brother had whenever they slept with Ivan. To anyone else, Feliciano probably seemed unchanged. But Lovino knew better. And so did Ivan. And that was the problem.

Feliciano's foot slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He flew backward and hit the mat, rolling over a few times before stopping. He'd let his thoughts distract him. He pushed himself off the ground as the knife came down, his brother stabbing the mat again. Lovino took another stance, his abdomen on fire. Feliciano rose, a hint of unbridled rage flittering around in his eyes. He took off, Lovino barely having enough time to dodge the knife. His _fratello_ would not stop until one of them was either completely pinned and unable to move or unconscious. Whichever happened first and more often the latter, as Lovino knew well. The kick had seriously injured him, and he felt faint.

Feliciano whirled around and came at him again, the rage boiling over now. Lovino dodged again, whipping a leg around to take his brother out by the back of the knees. He made contact with one of them, sending Feliciano sprawling. His _fratello_ rolled onto the mat and pushed himself back up gracefully, never missing a beat. Lovino envied Feliciano for that. His movements had always seemed jerky and imperfect compared to his younger sibling's. Feliciano's eyes now burned with fury, and Lovino knew if they continued, it wasn't going to end well for either of them. They should not have been sparring with Feliciano in this emotional state to being with.

He held up his hand. "Let's stop for today."

Feliciano paused, stopping himself from another charge. "What?"

"I think you've had enough. You're out for revenge today. That is not a proper sparring match."

Feliciano narrowed his brown eyes. "That is not how we play this game, _fratello_."

"Let it be for today."

"No." Feliciano charged like a bull, lightning fast, and Lovino barely missed taking the full brunt of the knife. The blade skimmed across his shoulder, slicing open his first few layers of skin.

"_Fratello!_" He grabbed Feliciano's arm and swung his brother around, nearly sending the boy flat onto his face. Feliciano recovered and pulled himself free of Lovino's grasp, swinging the knife around for another go. Irritated, Lovino struck out with his arm, grabbing Feliciano's wrist and twisting it to the side roughly. Feliciano gasped, the knife slipping from his fingers. Lovino pulled his _fratello_ down, kicking the boy's legs out from under him. They both dropped, Lovino landing on top and pinning Feliciano in place.

Feliciano struggled wildly, buy Lovino held him tight. His _fratello_ groaned in rage, nearly screaming.

"There. It's over. I win this time."

Feliciano finally stilled, craning his neck to glare angrily at Lovino. "_Fine._" He said venomously. "Have it your way."

Lovino rolled off his brother and stood, holding out a hand to help his _fratello_ up. Feliciano didn't spare it a second glance. Instead, he picked up the knife from the floor, walked slowly over to the wall and plucked the other one out, and left without another word. Lovino stumbled backward and hit the wall, sliding down it. He found it hard to breathe, his stomach aching. _What did he break this time?_ Last time his _fratello_ had kicked him so hard he almost ruptured his stomach.

Lovino found his vision fading. _Uh oh._ His cell phone sat against the opposite wall, taunting him. _Damn it_. He needed a trip to the infirmary. Right now. His sight clouded over, his body sagging and falling sideways until he hit the ground. _Fratllo, I'm so sorry. Please for forgive me. _

Those were the words he'd never dared to say out loud.

His consciousness waned just as the practice room door slid open, followed quickly by a gasp and a rapid succession of footsteps. Lovino felt someone shaking him, but he was too tired to open his eyes. Too tired to stay awake. His mind left the world behind.

* * *

**Dro: **Ah, a nice, full chapter. That's what I like to see. So, I'm guessing about half of you will guess who the mysterious man really is. This is going to be fun to watch.

**Next Chapter: **The mysterious man reveals his true identity and asks America for his help. Meanwhile, we rejoin England and Germany, who are now hiding in the outskirts of Moscow and preparing for their showdown with Russia.


	11. A Viridian Revelation

**Dro: **Had I not been so OCD about keeping my chapter pattern, I probably would've named this chapter _"The Book of Revelations." _I'm not sure I've ever revealed quite this much in a single chapter. At least not in terms of the multiple pieces of this story falling into place in one single section.

**Chapter Summary:** The identity of Alfred's mysterious savior is revealed, followed by another revelation that leaves Alfred's head spinning. Meanwhile, Arthur thinks something has gone terribly awry until he runs into someone he never thought he'd see again.

**Warnings:** My corny humor

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Alfred sat in his chair, numb and confused. The man sat across from him, munching on a biscuit. Had he not been so utterly stupefied, he probably would have been pissed off. He'd spent his entire time in this world with one concrete fact that everyone kept repeating over and over to him. And now that one fact had been broken into a million pieces comprising one big lie. Granted, no one probably knew they were lying about it. Because the jackass in front of him had been hiding his existence for the last six months.

"You're a douche bag, you know?" He tapped a finger on the table.

The other America raised an eyebrow. "How so? Because I've been working on a completely top secret plan to take Russia down?"

"Everyone thinks you're dead."

"That's the point." He plucked another biscuit from the plate. "If Russia knew I was alive, I'd never be able to go through with this plan. It was all working out so well." Blue eyes narrowed in irritation. "And then _you_ show up."

"Well, sorry! I have to save the Germany from my world."

"Yeah. I got that." He took a bite. "What I don't get is why that involves you traipsing into Red territory _alone._"

"Well, I didn't have anyone to help me, so…"

"So, you decided to be a rash idiot and go it alone. Right. You know shit like that is what almost got me killed, right?"

"Almost being the key word here."

The other America rolled his eyes. "Not the point. I'm sure your other world friends would be highly upset to know you were shot to death by the Red watchmen."

"Well, seeing as they'd never know…"

"That would be even worse." The man eyed him critically, and Alfred stared him down, noting some of his features. They looked nearly identical, but the parallel him had some noticeable differences. Despite the fact he'd gone and cleaned up after revealing himself, his other self seemed to have perpetual stubble. There were dark rings around his eyes, no doubt the product of months with little sleep. His hair was a little longer, a little shaggier. And then there were the scars. The only one Alfred could see all of was a light one on the man's left cheek, but the wide end of a pink line that disappeared under his collar hinted at a much more gruesome story.

Whether his parallel self was alive or not, the man had gone through a nuclear bombing. And it showed. Alfred was slowly discovering that his alter self was rather cynical. He also seemed to have a one track mind: defeat Russia. Alfred could sort of understand that, but it was still creeping him out how every topic they started on rounded back to Russia at some point. It was kind of obsessive.

"Okay, fine. I'll admit that was a _little_ stupid." He sipped his tea. "_But_ I'm not turning back."

"Oh, of course not. I wasn't suggesting you should."

"Huh? Then what…?"

"I want your help."

Alfred sat his glass down, suspicious. "You want my help?"

"Did I stutter? You need to retrieve your Germany. I need to kill Russia. Your Germany is on a mission to kill Russia. Seems like we might have some common interests here."

"Well, that's true, but…"

"But what?"

"Um…I mean, what about the two of us being seen together?"

Both eyebrows went up. "Did you miss the uniform with the helmet?"

"Well, I mean, you don't wear that all the time, right?"

"Most of the time, yes. I'm a dead man, remember?"

Alfred relented. "Okay, fine. I'll stick with you. By the way, where's this mysterious super secret special team you've been assembling?"

"At our base. We'll be heading there in the morning."

"Wonderful."

The older woman came back into the kitchen and opened the oven, pulling out something Alfred didn't recognize. "Would you dears like some scones?"

Alfred grimaced.

"_Ugh, I hate scones."_

He paused and shot a glance at his other self. Had they just…said the exact same thing? At the exact same time? His alter self was giving him a similar look. Eyebrows narrowed in suspicion. They sat in tense silence, each challenging the other to speak.

"_England has imaginary friends!"_

Alfred almost fell out of his chair.

"_Holy shit!"_

"_Stop that!"_

"_Quit it!"_

"_This is freaky!"_

They stared at each other, two pairs of identical blue eyes wide and twitching.

"_Holy shit! You _are_ me!"_

The lady glanced back and forth between them. "All right, then. I'll be heading to be bed now, dears."

"_Good night, ma'am." _They glared at each other. _"Stop it!"_

Once they finally got out synch, Alfred excused himself and headed for the guest room the lady had spoken about. He was dirty and tired and confused and freaked out, and he desperately needed some rest. He took a quick shower, washing the grime from his battle with the watchmen off. He was sore where the man had hit him the rifle. When he finally dropped onto the bed for the night, his mind wandered. So his other self was alive, huh? Who would've guessed? Everyone seemed so sure that he was dead. How had his alter self even lived through nuclear destruction? As far as he knew, the US was just about _gone_.

And yet there the guy was, scarred and exhausted but alive. He had to admit, death was a good cover for instigating a top secret initiative to bring the enemy down. What did Russia have to fear from a dead man? _Apparently a lot_. He wondered who was working with the other him. Did he have nations on his side? Unless there were others mistakenly declared dead, Alfred didn't think so. It would be hard to keep it under wraps that way. Russia seemed to have a spy network next to none.

_I swear, if this plot gets any thicker, I might start to choke._

_

* * *

_

Alfred was shaken awake at 6:00 AM the next morning by the woman whose name he hadn't bothered to ask. After he took another shower, the woman fed him a quick breakfast of oatmeal and sent him on his way. The other America was waiting for him outside, helmet on, bike revved up and ready to go. Alfred sank onto the back again without speaking and gripped his double as the man took off. Trees and shrubbery zipped by at a lightning pace, the winding, narrow road bordered on both sides by forest.

The countryside would've been a beautiful sight to behold had it not been for the periodic scars that dotted the land. Alfred found himself grimacing every time they passed the ruins of a once proud town. Most of them had been destroyed so long ago they were no more than rubble, nature already swallowing them back up. Alfred had forgotten to ask how long the drive would be, and he wished he could get a word in with his double.

A sudden thought occurred to him as he looked at the long strength of road. They were on a road. A road in Soviet territory. Couldn't soldiers and watchmen just drive by and find them? They were right out in the open. His double had accused him of being reckless, but wasn't the other him just as bad? He grunted. _Hypocrite._

Another hour passed by without any interesting happenings. Alfred's ears were numbed by the constant sound of the engine. All the blurry trees had started to look the same. All the towns were in the exact same state. He wondered briefly if they'd entered some sci-fi time loop and were stuck riding the same stretch of road over and over and over and over and…He grabbed a hold of his double as the bike suddenly veered off the road, landing hard on a dirt path that led into the forest. Alfred's heart beat wildly. _Gee, he could've at least warned me!_

Thirty minutes later, after surviving miles of treacherous dirt path, Alfred spotted a camp in the distance. His eyes immediately latched on to the heavy artillery they were packing, boxes of guns and ammo loaded onto several trucks. There were guards stationed at the camp's entrance, guns at the ready as they caught the sound of the approaching vehicle. They calmed when the two of them neared, and a moment of shock crossed their expressions as they caught sight of Alfred's face. They had been told about him, of course, but actually seeing him? He wondered if it was as weird as actually coming face to face with yourself!

The other him pulled the bike to a stop, and they got off. The men at the gates saluted and let them in, his double pulling the motorcycle along with him. It was a large camp, and people were milling about. Some were organizing supplies. Some were cooking. Some were training. He looked back to see his double had left him behind. The man had parked the bike and rushed toward a tent on the far end. Alfred briskly followed him there. He slipped inside the tent after his double. It was dark inside, and as his eyes started to adjust, he realized there was only one other person in there with them.

"How are you feeling?"

"So this is him?" The familiar voice rang out. Alfred gaped.

"Not important. How are _you?_"

"A little better than when you left. It's nearly healed now." A violet-hued eye ran over Alfred's form. "Glad to see you made it here okay. I was really worried you were going to blow our cover for a minute there." He smiled.

Alfred stared, pity, awe, warmth, love, confusion and a myriad of emotions he couldn't even describe welling up inside him.

"Matt."

Matthew smiled at him wider, his one visible eye flashing with amusement. "Seeing two Alfreds is kind of scary, you know?" He glanced from Alfred to his double. "It was bad enough having to deal with one of you."

His double snorted. "Tell it to the judge. Don't forget I saved your ass."

Matthew's mirth faded into admiration. "Of course not, Al."

His other self blushed as Matthew rose from his bed and embraced him. They hugged tightly, his double's head buried in Matt's shoulder. Alfred stood there, uncomfortable. They released each other and smiled, Matthew affectionately, his double sadly. Matthew whispered something that sounded similar to "I missed you, dumbass."

Alfred took the opportunity to get a good look at his parallel brother. The right side of Matthew's face was covered in a crisp, white bandage, his eye obscured completely. Alfred wasn't sure what had gone down, but he could tell it had been a serious injury. The way his parallel self was doting on his brother told the whole story. Matt had been close to death. Alfred swallowed nervously. He couldn't imagine having to deal with a situation where his brother was anywhere close to mortally wounded.

"Sirs, I don't mean to interrupt, but we have an incoming transmission from our informant in Moscow." A man peeked into the tent, visibly paling at the sight of two versions of his boss. He shook it off. "He says it's urgent."

Reluctantly, his double broke away from Matthew and headed out of the tent. He paused next to Alfred and leaned close. "Stay with him. Please." He whispered in a desperate voice, and then he was gone.

A light flared up in the opposite direction, and he turned to see Matthew had flicked on a small, battery-powered lamp. He sat in a chair at a nice wooden table, trying his best to pry open a box of crackers. Alfred cautiously walked over and sat down in the spare chair. "Let me." Matt paused for a moment before handing him the box. Alfred ripped it open with ease, only to meet his parallel brother's sour gaze.

"The point was to open it so I could close it again."

Alfred grinned sheepishly. "Oh. Well, there's always Ziploc." He grinned.

Matthew didn't look amused. "Ha ha." He rolled his eyes. "Different world. Same Alfred."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Matthew just groaned and poured some crackers out on a plate. "Want some?"

Alfred suddenly realized he was really hungry. He hadn't had anything since that bowl of oatmeal. "Sure. When's lunch?"

Matthew smirked. "In an hour or so."

"Cool." He munched on a cracker, watching his brother's gentle movements. He ached to ask the question, but he really didn't want to be so blunt about it.

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "Wow, I'm surprised at your restraint."

"Huh?"

"You want to ask what happened to me. Usually, you'd just be all rude and blurt it out. Well, that's what my Alfred does."

Alfred felt himself blush. That was exactly what he usually did too. "Oh, well…you're my brother, so…"

Matthew smiled. "It's good to know you care about your brother too." He sighed. "I used to think Alfred hardly noticed me, but since Russia rose to power, well, he starting treating me differently. He starting telling me to man up, saying I was strong, so I needed to act it. Honestly, I always thought he considered me weak, but the way he spoke to me, like he actually thought I was capable of taking on Soviet Russia…it gave me a whole new image of him. And then…"

"Then the nuclear strike happened."

Matthew bit his lip, his voice rising in pitch. "Yeah. Then he was dead to the world. I grieved for weeks, and then…then I became vengeful. I went to the front lines and killed every damn Soviet I could get my hands on. It was working out well until a couple weeks ago. I got tricked by the Soviets using my own damn strategy. My entire regiment was decimated. Then, uh…" He absentmindedly tugged at his bandage. "I got shot in the head. I don't remember much after that. I drifted in and out of consciousness. I remember being afraid of being captured by the Reds and taken to Russia, but they passed me by. I was so messed up, I must've really looked like the thousands of corpses surrounding me."

He played with a cracker. "The next thing I remember I was on a helicopter, then in surgery. It all flashed by in bits and pieces until they finally put me under. And then I woke up four days later." He looked Alfred in the eye. "And my brother was there."

* * *

Arthur wasn't sure what was happening now. They'd made it to Moscow. They'd met up at their next safe point. Everything had been perfect. Now they were in a car driven by a man he didn't know or want to know, stuffed into the back with more people than this vehicle was supposed to hold. Some random man had approached them at the bar they'd been at, saying he knew who they were and that they needed to come with him immediately. Of course, their initial reaction had been "Oh shit! Blown cover!" but the man assured them he was on their side.

Cautiously, they'd piled into the car, windows tinted black, and had taken a trip to a rundown apartment complex. The man ushered them out, glancing around suspiciously. "Hurry along." His accent wasn't Russian, and Arthur was annoyed he couldn't place it. The man led them to a back door and into a service elevator. It squeaked and lurched and shook and groaned, but somehow, the ancient machine carried them five floors up. Arthur tensed as it rolled to a stop, the doors opening with a loud creak.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it certainly hadn't been a secret, makeshift hospital. It certainly hadn't been an ally. It certainly hadn't been something that would throw a major twist into their mission.

And it most certainly had not been Poland.

* * *

**Dro:** What the hell is Poland doing in my story? I suppose we'll find out next chapter.

**Next Chapter:** American, Parallel America, and Canada head towards Moscow in order to secretly aid England and his team with their assassination of Russia. Meanwhile, Poland shocks England and friends with several more revelations that send them into a frenzy. Finally, a message arrives from Switzerland from the Eastern Front, desperately warning them that something is not right.


	12. An Onyx Reunion

**Dro:** You guys better love me forever for this. This damned chapter is 4,300 words. I should've split in half too, but no! I wanted to give you the entire thing. So enjoy it! Because I spent all morning and afternoon writing it.

**Chapter Summary:** Alfred heads to Moscow with his alter self and Matt, intent on secretly helping Arthur. However, his double leads them on a slight detour to a familiar abandoned hotel. Meanwhile, Arthur reels over Poland's revelations, France get cockblocked by the (not) dead Alfred, and you get a hefty dose of a flashback (read: a flashback within a flashback) before the exciting moment everyone has been waiting for finally happens!

**Warnings:** Language, Mentions of violence, Confusing flashback within a flashback scene

* * *

Alfred watched the sun rise. He should've been sleeping still, but something had kept him up all night. He wasn't sure what had made him so restless, but it was too late to remedy that now. His double's secret force was moving out today, intending on covertly aiding Arthur in his quest to assassinate Russia. He peered back into the tent. Matthew was on his side, dozing comfortably. Alfred smiled. It had been nice seeing Matt even if it wasn't his true brother. He longed to return home more than anything. He missed Arthur. He missed his country. He missed everything.

He laughed at the irony. Everything had started to seem so mundane to him in everyday life recently. He'd been bored and had grown lazy. He'd kept wishing something exciting would happen. And now it had. And he was miserable. He shook his head. _Be careful what you wish for, Alfred. You might get sent to a parallel universe. _

"Mm, Al?" Matt rolled over sleepily, blinking at Alfred.

"Other Al, Matt."

"Hm?" He sat up. "Oh. Right. Sorry." He rubbed his visible eye. The doctor had come by yesterday and said the bandage could come off sometime today. Which apparently worked out for everyone because Matthew couldn't wear the helmet with it on. Alfred had scoffed upon learning that everyone was supposed to dress up in the same uniform, but he'd realized later that absolute anonymity was probably a good idea in a world where Russia had spies around every corner.

Hence why Alfred was all geared up. His helmet sat on the table, remnants of a light breakfast of toast next to it. He glanced at Matt. "You want breakfast? I can fix you something."

"No, I'm good. I'll eat after I get dressed." He yawned. "Where's my Al?"

"Scouting."

"Who's with him?"

Alfred shrugged. "No idea. He just told me to stay here and watch you."

Matthew scoffed. "Yeah. He's been under the impression I need a 24-hour nurse since I got here."

"Well, you were hurt pretty bad." Aflred eyed the bandage closely. His sense of morbid curiosity made him want to see exactly how bad Matt's injury was.

"I was only in danger for a couple of days. I've been in the clear for a while now."

"Well, if my Matt was almost mortally wounded in the head, I'd be pretty shaken up too. I know it would make me more protective of him." He already felt more protective of Matt, parallel brother or not.

"Ah." He nodded. "I suppose I'd feel the same way if Al…" He trailed off. Alfred knew, of course, where this was going. Matt _had_ thought his brother was dead for several months. It was a wonder he wasn't clinging to the other Alfred for dear life.

A loud shout outside interrupted them. Alfred peeked out to see the scout jeep returning. Which meant they'd be leaving soon. "Al back?" Matt asked. Alfred nodded.

A hour later they were on the road, the landscape zooming past them. It would be an hour's ride to the outskirts of Moscow. Some team members would hang back with the vehicles, guarding their speedy escape route in case something went wrong. The main team would consist of five men Alfred didn't know, himself, his alter self, and Matt. He glanced sideways. Matt's face looked slightly paler where his bandage had been, but Alfred was happy to see the injury wasn't nearly as bad as he'd imagined. There was a rounded red scar above the edge of Matt's right eyebrow. It still looked irritated, but it was obviously healing well.

Alfred couldn't help but wonder how Matt had managed to survive a shot like that. It had obviously hit his brain. He wondered if Matt had had any adverse side effects from the tissue damage. He hadn't seen any paralysis or motor problems or anything, but it was always possible that Matt could have some kind of permanent brain damage. He shook the thoughts away. Matt looked fine. He acted fine. He was fine. _Stop worrying yourself. _

"How close are we?" Matt asked, looking at Alfred's alter self in the front seat.

"About ten minutes. Gear up." His doubled grabbed his helmet and slipped it over his head with one hand. "We're getting close to the hornet's nest now."

Alfred and Matthew followed suit. It was odd seeing the world from behind a tinted helmet. Alfred gripped one of his guns. He had several strapped to his body in odd positions now. These people weren't playing games. Alfred had gotten a good overview of the team earlier. Highly skilled martial artists. Former navy seals. Weapons experts. His double had spent his time "dead" creating a crack team like no other. This was his alter self's endgame.

Moscow appeared in the distance, and Alfred shifted uncomfortably. He'd been in this city in his own world just a few months ago at a peace conference. Now he was going in to help assassinate Russia. He weighed the idea of telling this entire story to everyone when he got back. On one hand, they'd be begging to know what happened. On the other, it might not be a good idea to tell Russia he'd helped snuff his alter self out.

The jeeps pulled to a stop, and everyone filed out. He stood up front with Matt and his alter self, noting that the rest of the team seemed slightly confused. He glanced from side to side and almost burst out laughing. All three of them had the exact same height and build. With their helmets on, they looked like triplets. His other self finally realized and removed his helmet.

"Now, you all now what to do. You three," he pointed to the team staying behind, "keep a lookout for the signals. If anything goes wrong, we'll be back here as fast as possible. You guys," he shifted his hand toward the five coming with them, "follow my lead and my orders. If I tell you to abort the mission, do it without question. I don't plan on losing anyone today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day."

Right. Three days was the maximum amount of time his double had been willing to give this mission. If they couldn't manage to team up with Arthur and take Russia in three days time, then they probably wouldn't be able to do it at all. Three days would be more than enough time to assault Russia's home and attack him head on. Alfred shivered at the thought that he'd be sneaking into Russia's mansion any day now. He'd always hated that place. In his world, it was eerily empty now that the Soviet Union had fallen. Alfred wasn't sure what was scarier: an empty house of the USSR filled with bloody memories or a full one filled with current nightmares.

Alfred adjusted his weaponry. Matt held their disassembled rifles in his pack, ready to be put together at a moment's notice. His double saluted to his team, who returned the motion. Then they were off. Marching through the Russian wilderness wasn't Alfred's idea of fun, but at least it would only be a few miles. Or so his double had said. When the man had gotten back from the informant's call, he'd seemed highly disturbed and had immediately changed a few plans. Instead of squatting in their original location—a rundown factory—they were apparently going to an abandoned hotel. Alfred still hadn't figured out why, and alter Alfred would not tell him. _"You'll find out when we get there. I'm not sure of this information myself yet."_

Annoyed, Alfred followed Matt and his double into Moscow, leaving members back at a strategic locations until it was just the three of them. The slipped through dark alleyways, taking a winding and twisted path through several abandoned areas. Moscow was eerily silent for this time of day, and Alfred wondered just what had happened to the city in this world. It was nothing like in his own world. His double held out his hand, signaling for them to pause. He motioned toward a building across a parking lot. Alfred assumed it was the mysterious "abandoned hotel" they were looking for.

They hid in the shadows as a few cars passed by, then they sprinted across the road and parking lot and slipped into the building, hopefully unnoticed. The bottom floor was deathly silent, and it gave Alfred chills. His other self beckoned them forward, turning a corner and stopping in front of a service elevator.

"Are we going up?" Matt asked.

"Indeed we are."

* * *

Arthur stared solemnly out the window. His eyes were ringed in dark bags. He hadn't gotten any sleep the night before. How could he? After seeing Poland like that. After seeing…After hearing what Poland had had to say to them…God, this situation had turned critical. Fast. If that wasn't enough, they'd received a frantic message from Vash, telling him that the Red army was moving in odd formations. Like they were expecting a massive attack any day now. There was no denying what that meant. Russia knew they were on the move. Which meant he could very well know that Arthur was sitting here in an abandoned hotel in Moscow preparing to attack his house.

How had this spiraled downward so quickly? Just yesterday, everything had been going according to plan. They were on their way to victory, damn it! Why couldn't he just get a break for once? He dropped his face into his hands, letting out a shaky sigh. His world had been turned upside by Poland's revelation. He wanted to believe what Feliks had said so desperately, but he was so afraid to get his hopes up. _So_ afraid.

"_Angleterre_."

He didn't bother to acknowledge Francis' presence. The man walked up behind him and started to massage his shoulders. "Do not do this to yourself, Arthur."

"I'm so frustrated." His voice cracked. He was really starting to lose it, wasn't he?

"We all are. There is nothing you can do about what has happened. All we can do now is try our hardest to win." Francis rested his head on Arthur's shoulder. "You must keep yourself together. I fear for you."

"I fear for everyone. We could all die right now, Francis. Russia could just bomb us right into oblivion."

"But he has not yet, and we are still here and able to fight." He gently grasped Arthur's arms, drawing circles with his thumbs. Arthur finally turned his way, green eyes bloodshot and exhausted.

"What do I do, Francis? What _can_ I do?"

"You are doing all that you can. And no one expects any more of you. Calm yourself, now. I came here to get you for lunch."

"Not hungry."

"You need to eat, Arthur."

He sighed. "I know." He rose, shirking off Francis' hands. "Let's go then." Truthfully, it wasn't the food he was worried about. He didn't want anyone to see him in this state. He looked a mess. Just as he reached the door, straightening his collar, hand pulled him back. He glanced up at Francis.

"What?"

Silently, Francis cupped his cheeks. Arthur met eyes engulfed in a feeling he had not seen in many months, and his stomach twisted into a knot. He moved to get Francis' hands off his face, intending to tell him this wasn't the time or the place for something like this.

"Fr—"

Francis pulled him into a searing kiss. Arthur's mind went blank. It had been so long…so long since he'd been kissed like this. He melted into it, letting Francis reel him in closer. Francis' lips moved against his own, hot and passionate. Arthur's eyes drooped low, finally closing as he gave himself to the kiss.

Beneath his eyelids, he saw only one thing.

Alfred.

He gasped, pushing Francis away from him with all his strength. Francis stumbled backward, shocked. "Arthur?"

"I…I'm sorry…I can't…I can't do this…Not now." He turned and darted out of the room, face burning.

Francis lingered behind, anger running through his tight jaw and clenched firsts. Feliks had given them all false hopes, and now he was losing Arthur. Again! "Tell me something, _Amerique_." He whispered to the empty room. "Are you truly intent on haunting him until he meets you in the grave?"

Arthur, pulling open the door to the stairway, felt a shiver go down his spine. _Please just let today be better than yesterday. Please. Just this once._

_

* * *

_

"_P—Poland!" He exclaimed. "Oh my God, Feliks! You're…you're alive!" Arthur and the others filed out of the elevator in pure disbelief. They had all long considered Poland dead. He'd been captured near the beginning, and they'd never heard from him again. Poland itself was nothing but a Soviet shadow of the former country, war torn, poverty stricken, hopeless. Then again, perhaps "alive" wasn't really the term to use for Feliks. He certainly didn't look it._

_His face was gaunt with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. His clothes hung off of him like he was nothing but skin and bones. He appeared to have been severely starved, and now he looked weak and emaciated. There were bruises dotting his face and neck, trailing underneath his collar. And when he walked toward them, he hobbled with a limp, his right leg obviously not keeping up with its mirror. _

_But even in such a condition, Felik's eyes were bright and hopeful, and a smile was plastered on his pale face. "It's been, like, way too long, you guys!"_

_Arthur couldn't stop himself from walking forward and hugging the man tight. Feliks desperately embraced him back. "It's so good to see you."_

"_You too, my friend. We totally need to catch up!"_

"_But, Feliks," Antonio started, "where've you been all this time?"_

_Arthur and Feliks parted, and Feliks smiled sadly at Antonio. "Where do you think?"_

"_Russia kept you prisoner?" Gilbert asked. It was rare for Russia to keep an enemy nation alive for very long._

_But Feliks nodded. "He was…" his voice caught as a wave sadness washed through his face. "He was using me to keep Toris in line."_

_Arthur's mouth hung open. He knew, of course, that the Baltics were never fond of Russia, but they had been working with him diligently this entire time. "So, Toris...did he help you escape then?"_

_Feliks bit his lip, and Arthur saw the tears in his eyes. "I can't…Just…Just let me show you." He turned and started limping away._

_Arthur and the others followed along, each sending worried glances to their neighbor. Arthur wondered what exactly was going on, and when he followed Feliks into a room on the left, he was left with even more questions. And more pain. So much more._

_Lithuania laid deathly silent and pale on the bed, his head bandaged in stark white that almost matched the pallor of his skin. His chest rose and fell mechanically, powered by a ventilator. Arthur swallowed thickly. He heard Antonio's heavy breathing on one side of him and Gilbert's soft growl of anger on the other. _

"_What…" Arthur paused. "What happened to him?"_

_Feliks dropped down into the chair next to the bed, his body immediately relaxing as if the mere effort of standing had winded him. He leaned forward and grasped Toris' hand, wetting his lips with his tongue._

"_Russia shot him in the head."_

_No one spoke. No one moved. The gravity of such a proclamation sank into them for several minutes. Russia had shot one of his own Soviet nations. One of the few that had always obeyed him—willingly or not. One of the few who had never dared to stand up against him._

"_Why?" Arthur cried out._

_Feliks eyed them and responded. "Because he lied."_

"_About what?"_

_Feliks shook his head. "I'm not sure how to tell you this. I don't even know if it's true, but…let me just retell what happened. You can draw your own conclusions."_

_Arthur nodded._

"_You guys should probably sit down." Feliks added._

_Numbly, Arthur pulled up a chair from the corner, and they all shifted uncomfortably as they waited for Feliks to begin._

"_I suppose I should start from the beginning…"_

_

* * *

_

_Feliks had lost track of how long he'd been confined to this solitary dungeon. He hadn't seen sunlight in months. He hadn't had a haircut in over a year. His allotted bathroom amenities were few, far between, and lacking in quality. He was dirty and tired and depressed. They were barely giving him enough to eat. His only recompense for not committing suicide was to see Toris twice a week. God knows how hard he'd try to off himself if he stopped being able to see Toris. Without Toris, the world just wasn't worth it to him anymore. _

_On the note of Toris, he sat up. It was one of Toris' visiting days. He didn't have a clock, but his body had adjusted itself enough that he always seemed to know when it was time for Toris to come. Which made sense considering it was the only thing he had to look forward to. So he crossed his legs and waited. And waited. And waited._

_After about a hour (he guessed), he started feeling nervous. Toris was _never _late. Never. _

"_Liet, where are you?" He asked the dank cell. He started getting jittery. He would've gotten up and paced if it wasn't for his damned leg. _Stupid fucking Russia! _He still remembered the man's laugh when he'd blown three holes through Felik's leg. Of course he hadn't bothered with surgery, just removed the bullets and stuck him in this hell hole. His leg hadn't healed right. With his country in ruin, he lacked his normal healing abilities. He'd probably never be able to walk right again. _

_He clenched the sheets. Where the hell was Liet? He tried his best to patient, but his mind kept going through every possible scenario. What if Liet had been killed on a mission? What if his jet had gone down and he'd died burning up inside it? What if Russia had tired of him and finally killed the Baltics? What if? What if? What if? That was all Feliks could think._

_Finally, the sounds of someone nearing his cell echoed off the walls. Relieved, he waited for the door to open, only to realize it was just the guard coming to drop off his meager dinner. Dinner. Toris was supposed to have been here right after lunch time. The guard closed the grate on his door before he could even get two words out. Now he was really panicking._

_He spent the rest of the evening under his frazzled, thin sheets, trying to hold back tears. He failed miserably, the sounds of his sobs bouncing off the cell walls. At some point, he must have cried himself to sleep. Because he woke up to his cell door being opened hours later. He shot up, completely convinced that Liet was dead and Russia was finally through with him. A part of him was relieved. He could finally rest in peace and be free from this torment. Another part of him was terrified. _

_And then all of him was confused._

_Because Eduard stood in the doorway._

_Estonia glanced at him grimly and marched over to his bed, hauling him up. _

"_W—what are you doing?"_

"_Be quiet and come with me. Don't ask questions. Don't speak at all. We only have a few minutes."_

"_A few minutes for what?"_

"_Just shut up, Poland!" He barked._

_Feliks went silent and allowed Eduard to pull him along. He gaped as they passed three unconscious guards. Had Eduard done this? _What in the world is happening? _Eduard stopped several times, peering around corners. Was he really breaking Feliks out? It seemed so unlikely that Eduard would be willing to cross Russia that way. But it seemed more and more to be the case as they headed out the back door of the building and into a parking lot full of military vehicles. _

_Feliks cringed as light hit his eyes, but all the while he couldn't stop staring at it. The moon. Oh God, how he'd missed the moon! Eduard continued to drag him along until they reached a random vehicle in the middle of the lot. As Feliks looked in, he realized there was a driver waiting for them, someone he didn't recognize._

"_Eduard, please tell me what's going on." He whispered._

"_You're getting out of here. For good."_

"_But…why are you breaking me out? Why, like, risk your life this way?"_

_Eduard stared at him, eyes hard. "Because I need you to take care of Toris."_

_Feliks stomach dropped into a pit. "What?"_

"_No more questions. We don't have time."_

"_Please. What happened to Toris?"_

_Eduard swallowed and pulled him along to the back of the vehicle, opening the gate. Feliks' heart stopped. A bloody Toris laid unconscious in the back, a completely drenched towel—dyed a dark red in the night—covering the upper portion of his face._

"_L—Liet. What…What…What happened to him?" Feliks cried._

"_Russia interrogated him."_

"_B—but…why?"_

"_Because he lied about something."_

"_And…?"_

"_And Toris talked back to him. _That _was the result." He flicked his eyes to the still body of his long time friend. "Now get out of here."_

"_But…Eduard…if Russia finds out you let me go…"_

"_I know." _

"_But…"_

"_Go." He helped Feliks into the back of the truck. "Take care of him for me."_

"_I—I will." Tears streamed down his cheeks. Eduard called to the driver to go. "Wait!" _

_Eduard looked at him. "What?"_

"_What did he lie about?"_

_Eduard's lips thinned into a hard line. "America."_

"_What about America?" Hadn't Russia bombed America with nuclear warheads a few months ago? Liet had told him all about it. What could Liet have possibly lied about concerning…_

"_America is alive."_

_

* * *

_

"_T—that's impossible." Antonio murmured. All eyes were on Arthur, waiting for his reaction. But he just sat there, staring at everything and nothing. Every assurance he'd told himself of Alfred's death. Everything he'd done to leave the man behind. Everything shattered into a million pieces. The doubt and the confusion he'd long buried away came back in a rush, his mind muddled with disbelief and insecurity._

"_But how could Alfred be alive?" Gilbert dared to ask. "A…After what happened to him?"_

_Feliks shrugged. "I don't know. That was all Eduard told me. I had to leave then or I would've gotten recaptured." _

_Arthur felt numb. Francis placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking. If only Arthur had known it was out of anger and not shock. Instead, he grabbed Francis hand and squeezed it tightly before slipping it off. _

"_I…" The room suddenly felt ice cold. "I need some air." He left without another word._

_

* * *

_

Arthur stood in the stairwell, gulping in air. _What the hell was Francis thinking? How could he kiss me like that after what Feliks said yesterday? He knows that I…_ "Damn it." His voice bounced off the concrete walls. He rubbed his temples. Of course, there was always the chance that Feliks was wrong, that Estonia had been wrong. In fact, that was more likely than them being correct. But there was a fire burning inside Arthur now, a fire that had been extinguished for such a long time. It seared through his veins and brought with it memories of a time he'd tried his hardest to bury away.

Hope he didn't not want out of fear seeped into bones. He was getting all worked up for what was probably nothing. _But, if it was nothing,_ he rationalized, _then why did Russia react the way he did? _Truthfully, the answer was contained in a single person: Toris. But Toris was comatose. How could they possibly find out the truth with him in that state? Arthur slid down the wall and wrapped his arms around his legs. He was going to break. He could feel himself on the verge of shattering.

A shrill alarm blared out, startling him. It lasted for several seconds before a voice came over the PA system, telling all armed allies to head to the elevator.

An intruder alert.

Arthur realized the service elevator track ended only one floor down from him. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his handgun and rushed down the steps, wrenching the door open. The elevator door stood across from him, menacing. He glanced at the lights. Two floors away. No back up had arrived yet. Everyone had been in the cafeteria for lunch. On the other side of the building. _Shit. What if there's more than one?_

He raised his gun, prepared to shoot the first person he saw. The elevator hit the last floor and grinded to a stop. The doors banged as they rolled opened. Three masked people stood in the elevator, garbed in black and heavily armed.

"Don't move!" _I'm outnumbered! Shit! Shit! Shit! _His threat was meaningless.

But for some reason, they stopped. All three of the figures froze at the sound of his voice.

"I…I don't know who the hell you are, but put your weapons down. Now!" Finally, he could hear the sounds of backup approaching.

The man in the middle suddenly raised his hands, and Arthur almost slipped up and shot him right there. "Don't you dare. Don't even think about it!" But the man kept moving. He held up his hands in a surrender gesture for several seconds before going for his helmet. Arthur gulped.

The man pulled his helmet off.

Arthur's gun clattered to the floor.

"Alfred?"

* * *

**Dro: **Don't ask me how I managed to fit all that in one chapter. It should've been two separate ones. But it was all the same part, so...I was nice and made it one for you. On another note, ha ha for France getting cockblocked by a supposed dead guy! He totally deserves it for being an traitorous ass.

**Next Chapter:** The heartwarming reunion between Arthur and parallel Alfred (and Matthew), the reunion of Alfred and Germany, and the split decision on whether Alfred and Germany should stay or leave now while they still have a chance to remain unscathed. Meanwhile, Lovino, recovered from his wounds, confronts Feliciano about his animosity, causing them to relive the day that shattered their brotherhood.


	13. A White Embrace

**Dro: **Damn it, I spoiled you again. This chapter is 3.5k. Bah, you people are lucky! You better enjoy it. On another note, I was thinking about something today. After Solemnity hits 100 reviews (it's only three short), how about I celebrate three 100+ review stories with something? Like a oneshot? You can shoot ideas/requests at me if you want. I'll see what I can come up with.

**Chapter Summary: **Parallel Alfred and Arthur have a tearful reunion. Alfred and Ludwig remain ambivalent on whether to leave or stay. And the Italy brothers reveal the true extent of the degradation of their brotherhood.

**Chapter Warnings:** Violence, Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Alfred watched in awe. His double had not known what was here. Or who. So it wasn't just the shock of Arthur meeting his long lost Alfred. It also went the other way around. Even from his position behind his alter self, Alfred could fully understand the man's emotions. He could see the other Alfred's exact expression without having to look at it. Because he felt so similar. To see Arthur standing there, alive and well, despite the rings around his eyes and his obvious loss of weight, a burst of great joy so powerful he almost collapsed shot through his body. His muscles tingled. His bones buzzed with excitement.

Alfred missed Arthur. And he'd only been away from his own Arthur for a week now. But it felt like years. He couldn't imagine the depths of the longing his alter self had for Arthur after being away for so many months. Alfred wasn't sure he could've even handled that. He slid his eyes from Arthur's face and back to his alter self's shoulders. The man was tense. Really, really tense.

Alfred watched, completely still, as his double took two steps forward, closing the distance between himself and Arthur. Arthur never moved. His green eyes were as wide as they could go, his mouth hung open in a gape. Like he'd seen a ghost. Like he was seeing a ghost move closer and closer to him. When Alfred scrutinized him closer, he realized Arthur's entire body was trembling.

His double moved closer, and Arthur finally reacted.

"You…you can't…you can't…" He repeated it over and over. "You can't….you're not…you're not…" The dam broke on Arthur's eyes, and tears spilled over his lids and down his cheeks, staining them. His voice cracked into a high pitch. "You're not…"

"Arthur." His double's voice was tight but controlled. Alfred could hear the suppressed tears. "It's me."

Arthur's body shattered the ice in his bones. He lunged forward and wrapped himself around the other Alfred, clinging to him tightly. A loud sob broke from his throat, echoing down the hallway. Alfred's double closed his arms around Arthur's lithe body, the two of them sinking to the floor on their knees. Arthur buried his face in the other Alfred's shoulder, sobbing wildly. The double rocked the pair of them back and forth, whispering calming words into Arthur's ears.

Alfred caught the words "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He swallowed. That's exactly what he'd say to Arthur when he got back, he vowed. Arthur would be just like this, thinking he was dead or mortally wounded or stuck in this place forever. Alfred clenched his hands into fists. He would get back safely and never leave Arthur's side again. Never like this. His eyes focused on the lovers on the floor. Never like that.

A clamor broke out from around the corner. Armed men and women flooded the hallway, shouting at the intruders to put down their weapons. Alfred tensed, eying Matt beside him. The two of them had yet to remove their helmets, but he certainly wasn't about to do it with Arthur in his current emotional state. He didn't want to give the man a heart attack.

"What the hell is going on?" Alfred recognized that voice anywhere. Prussia. Familiar friends appeared at the front of the crowd, armed and ready for a fight. They all faltered as they witnessed the scene before them. Antonio's mouth hung open. Gilbert looked stunned and shaken. Francis was the same. And then Germany…Ludwig…was standing right next to them, looking confused and surprised but obviously not anywhere near as shocked as the others. Which could only mean…he'd found _his_ Germany!

He would've tossed off his helmet right there and hailed the man if he hadn't reminded himself of the situation they were currently in. So he kept his identity to himself, allowing the scene to play itself out without interruption. Arthur still clung to the other Alfred for dear life, the latter man's hands now softly stroking Arthur's hair. Finally, he pulled himself back and cupped Arthur's teary, flushed face.

"God, it's so good to see you again. I've missed you, Arthur."

A strangled sob escaped from Arthur's throat. "You…oh God, you…all this time, I thought…"

"I know. And I'm so sorry. Please. Please let me explain."

Arthur's bottom lip trembled. "I don't care you what have to say!" He yelled, a fresh batch of tears streaming down his face. "Just…" he quieted. "Just please never leave me again!"

The other Alfred looked shocked, then his expression softened. "I swear it. I swear I'll never leave you again." Alfred could tell he meant it.

Arthur embraced him again, this time pressing his face into the other Alfred's chest. This gave his other self a chance to finally acknowledge his old friends. He smiled sadly up at them. "It's been a while, hasn't it. How have all of you been faring?"

Antonio was the first to break from the stupor. "It is…good to see you again, _mi amigo_."

"And you, Antonio."

"But…how the hell did you survive?" Gilbert blurted out.

The other Alfred chuckled. "I'll tell you all about it, yeah?" His double ran his eyes down his line of friends, lingering on Germany. "Ah, you must this parallel world Germany I've been hearing so much about."

Ludwig stared. "How did you…?"

Arthur finally let the other Alfred go and raised his eyebrows, confused. "How did you find out about that?"

"Well…" His double finally glanced back at him, and Alfred took it as his cue. He pulled off his helmet, sending a frenzy of startled gasps throughout the hall. Arthur's eyes were so wide that Alfred thought they would fall out.

"B—but…how?" Francis exclaimed. The man was so shaken he was visible quivering.

Alfred looked Germany directly in the eyes. "Having fun here, are you?"

Ludwig finally got it. "You…you followed me here?"

"Of course. We had to get you back somehow."

"Wait." Antonio started. "You…" he pointed at Alfred. "You're the America from the same parallel world as this Germany?" He pointed to Ludwig.

Alfred nodded. "That's right. My Arthur sent me here to help get him back." He looked down at Arthur. "No worrying about the spell either." He patted a pocket. "I've got it right here."

"So you can get us home?" Ludwig asked.

"Well, not me." Alfred shrugged. "I was hoping Arthur was up for a little magic."

Arthur finally rose on shaky legs, Alfred's double rising with him. "I…I…yes…of course I will. Of course." He smiled nervously. "As soon as possible."

Alfred smiled at him. "No need for that. We can wait a little while. You probably need to relax" he glanced at his double "and catch up for a little bit, yeah?"

His double nodded. "Yeah, let's all sit down and talk this out. I have feeling this is going to involve a lot of long stories."

Arthur agreed. "Yes…let's…to the cafeteria." Alfred noticed Arthur's hand never stopped touching some part of his double. _He's hoping to God this isn't some cruel dream._

"Wait, so who's that?" Gilbert pointed at Matt, who was still masked.

"Oh, yeah!" Matt suddenly realized his position. He removed his helmet, blond hair tumbling out.

Arthur gasped. "Matthew?"

"Hey, Arthur."

"You're all right?" Arthur finally released the double and pounced on Matthew, hugging him tightly. Matthew wrapped his arms the other man, patting his back gently.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm fine. Al saved me, Arthur. I'm perfectly fine." Matthew assured.

Arthur looked him over, his eyes lingering on the scar above Matthew's eyebrow. A shaking hand brushed against it, and he met Matthew's eyes.

"It's just a battle wound, Arthur. It's all healed, I promise. I'm perfectly fine."

Arthur swallowed and nodded. "Thank God for that. Thank God."

Finally, Arthur seemed to regain some of his composure. "All right, everyone." He commanded. His voice was strained with emotion. "Let's all head to the cafeteria. We have a lot of things to discuss and very little time to do it." Everyone shuffled down the hall, Arthur never leaving the sides of the brothers.

Germany fell into line with Alfred. "How are things back home?"

Alfred patted his shoulder. "Fine. Everyone's worried about you, but they're all fine."

"Feliciano?"

"Worried and scared."

"So, like usual?"

"Exactly."

Ludwig felt a little reassured. He was convinced some major disaster would befall Feliciano without his presence. "So, how long until we get back?"

"Don't know. We could always ask Arthur to send us back now, but I think we should at least wait until he calms down a little. Plus, we're kind of in the middle of this big end game operation to take down Russia, and…"

"You're conflicted, right? As I am?" Ludwig said with finality.

Alfred met his eyes. "Yeah, truthfully. I…I'm supposed to the big hero, you know? And as much as I want to leave, I…"

"Can't bring yourself to leave these people, who are exact copies of all your loved ones, in the middle of a life or death battle that could mean the end of their world?"

"You don't really sugarcoat things, do you?"

"Indeed I do not."

Alfred sighed. "I just don't know what to do, man. How can I bring myself to leave these people? Especially right now, when they need all the help they can get? But, on the other hand, how can I justify putting myself into danger in a world that's not my own while my loved ones back home are anxiously awaiting my return? If I die here, it'll kill Arthur and Matt. They'll spend the rest of their lives not knowing what happened to me. And the same applies to you with Gilbert and Feliciano. I just…I'm so...confused on what the right thing is."

"As am I." Ludwig desperately wanted to see Feliciano again, but these people, right here, right now…they needed him, and they deserved all the help they could get.

"So what do we do then?" Alfred asked, watching as band of freedom fighters filed into the small cafeteria. He spotted a haggard, beaten, starved Poland sitting in a chair inside the room, and his heart ached.

Ludwig pursed his lips, a flicker of ambivalence in his blue eyes. "I don't know."

* * *

"I am not amused by your antics,_ fratello_." Lovino leaned back in the chair, keeping his eyes on the world outside the window. The gauze wrapped around his abdomen—now sporting a sewed up incision—stretched as he moved. He didn't bother looking back at Feliciano. He already knew what kind of expression his younger half would be wearing.

"Antics? I'm not sure I know what you mean." Feliciano said coldly. "Surely you don't think severing an artery is a joke?" His boots thudded on the floor as he walked closer. "Or do you?" He whispered under his breath.

Lovino caught it. "Is that what you think, _fratello_. That I did what I did as a joke? For laughs?" He clenched the wooden arm rests tightly. "I did that to save your life. If it wasn't for me, you would be dead right now. Instead, you are Ivan's favorite, and you sit in one of the highest positions in the world. Which would you rather want?"

"Do you want the truth?" Feliciano asked.

Lovino didn't reply.

"You're a fool, Lovino Vargas, if you believe this life of treachery and deceit is better than an honorable death."

"And what do you know of honor? Was it not you who left me in Ivan's clutches to begin with?" He sneered.

"Was it not you who fell into his web of false truths? You became his puppet of your own accord, Lovino. I tried to stop you, and you pushed me away. I came back to save you after you had fallen so far. And what did you do? You pulled me down with you." His voice rose. "I should be out there helping Arthur right now, you know? The old Feliciano would have in a heartbeat. And you know it. You knew the old Feliciano would choose them over you from the beginning, didn't you, Lovino? So you came up with a plan to keep your brother by your side." Feliciano towered over Lovino's injured form.

Lovino didn't bother to look at him, even when his _fratello's_ hands wrapped around his neck and squeezed. Feliciano's harsh words rattled off into his ears. "You decided the only way to keep your brother for yourself was to kill him. So you pulled him right into Russia's bloody clutches, and when he tried to pull away, you destroyed him. From the inside."

Lovino started to feel faint, but he didn't retaliate. "You forced your poor little Feli into a position he couldn't escape from. And when it came down to true death or false life, you went for the second option. And now look what you have. You have me. You have Ivan's perfect little assassin and adorable little whore, wrapped up into one perfect little package. Heartless. Empty. Emotionally damaged beyond repair."

He released Lovino's neck. "Congratulations, _fratello_. You got your wish, did you not?" Feliciano turned toward the door and started walking away. He paused. "Ah, but you always have to be careful what you wish for, don't you? You had a dream of being by your brother's side forever, and you did anything to keep that dream alive. Even let it morph into your worst nightmare. You are a fool, Lovino Vargas." He put his hand on the doorknob.

"Feliciano." Lovino whispered. He finally broke his eyes away from the window and stared, pleading, at his little _fratello_. "I love you."

Feliciano pulled the door open. "Lovino." He didn't bother looking back before he stepped past the threshold. "Stop lying."

* * *

_Feliciano wiped the plate with cloth, drying it off and placing it on the rack. He picked up a cup and did the same, humming a tune he'd heard recently on the radio. Sunlight filtered through curtains, bright and illuminating. It was a gorgeous day. He smiled to himself. Ludwig had promised him they'd go on a picnic when he got back from his meeting. It would be their last opportunity to. He pouted. That stupid Russia was finally making his move to take over the rest of Europe. All the nations would have to move further west to safe locations. If they got captured, there was no telling what Russia would do to them. _

_He wondered when Lovino would return. His _fratello_. Feliciano smiled wider. His brother was a genius. He flashed back to his terrified days in Ivan's house only a few weeks ago. He couldn't believe he'd actually thought the man was his friend once. Sure, he'd taught the brothers some incredible skills and had given them money and countless other things, but ultimately, they had realized he was nothing but insane. Personally, Feliciano didn't understand why Lovino hadn't noticed it sooner. He'd only seemed to understand the problem once Feliciano had spoken up about it._

_He shrugged. His _fratello_ could be dense sometimes. Perhaps he had just let the evidence slip by him in favor of giving Ivan the benefit of the doubt. But after watching Russia beat three people to death in cold blood for no good reason, both brothers had fled without a second thought. Ivan was dangerous. Feliciano was still grateful for what he'd given them, but he refused to corrupt himself with Ivan's influence. _

_The sound of the door opening roused him from his thoughts. Ludwig was back. "Ve, Ludwig, I'm in the kitchen!"_

_Ludwig sauntered in, smiling. He leaned over and pecked Feliciano on the lips. "How've you been today? Sorry I had to get up so early." He pulled the bread out of the cabinet. "This whole USSR business is causing a huge hassle. I don't want to think the war will escalate to World War II levels, but I'm not optimistic."_

_Feliciano frowned at the idea of Europe crumbling all over again. "It's fine, Ludwig. I know you have a lot of duties. You know, if you need help, you can just ask me. I'm a nation too." He smiled._

_Ludwig smirked. "I tried that once, remember?"_

_Feliciano pouted. "Hey, don't make fun of me! I'm not a coward anymore! I can fight, and I can plan, and I can strategize."_

_Ludwig's eyes softened. "I know that, Feli. I just…I don't want you to get too wrapped up in this. Ivan is…"_

"_I know what he is." Feliciano picked up another plate. "I've seen it myself." His voice dropped lower._

_Ludwig scrutinized him. "If he'd hurt when you stayed with him, you would tell me, right?"_

_Feliciano whipped around. "Of course! What kind of question is that? I love you, Ludwig. I tell you everything. I promise."_

_Ludwig nodded. "And I trust you, Feliciano. I just…you stayed with him for so long…I was afraid that he may have hurt you and scared you into keeping it a secret."_

"_Ivan never harmed me. I swear." He eyed the bread, trying to change the subject. "Are you making a sandwich?"_

"_Oh, yes. You want one?"_

"_Yes, please." He replied. _

_Ludwig took out the rest of the sandwich supplies and got to work. Feliciano stuck his hand back into the sink, immediately pulling it back out at is struck something sharp. He eyed his finger. _Oh, it's just a small cut._ He dabbed it on the drying cloth before reaching back into the water and slowly pulling out the culprit: a steak knife. He huffed. _Now, now, Feliciano. Don't revert to your careless old self. _He dried the knife off._

_Just as he was about to place it in the drying rack, a figure off to his left caught his attention. Lovino stood in the doorway, moving his fingers in a way Feliciano recognized. A signal to execute the plan. Feliciano stared at his brother. _But…what's he doing? The plan…_The plan had never been real. The plan was a ruse for them to escape. Lovino had told Ivan they'd assassinate Ludwig in order to escape from Russia without suspicion. So why was he…why was he…? He gaped at his brother for answers, but Lovino just flicked his eyes at Ludwig._

_Feliciano turned toward his oblivious lover, whose back was to them. His eyes briefly shot from the knife in his hand to Ludwig's back. _I'm dreaming, aren't I? _He looked back at his brother, who was signaling for him to do it. But the plan had never been real! What was Lovino thinking? _This is some kind of nightmare.

_He started to get angry. He turned back to Ludwig, reaching out to shake his shoulder. Lovino would stop this damned nonsense as soon as Ludwig was aware of his presence. Then Feliciano would interrogate his brother later, asking him what the hell was going on. His fingers brushed Ludwig's shoulder. _

_The plan had always been real._

_Feliciano realized that the moment his brother's hand grabbed his own. The moment his brother's hand forced his own knife-wielding one forward. The moment he watched in horror as he was unable to stop his brother's momentum, unable to stop himself from driving the knife into Ludwig's back._

_Straight into Ludwig's heart. _

_The plan had always been real. And he'd been too blind to see it. When he thought he'd become so much smarter and so much more observant, he'd missed the horrifying truth that had been in front of him for a month. The plan had always been in action. They had gained Ludwig's trust. They had wormed their way into his trusted circle of friends. They had stolen valuable top secret information. And then they had assassinated him._

_That was the plan. And they had just completed it._

_And Feliciano hadn't known until it was far too late. _

_So he watched as Ludwig's body hit the floor, already dead. He watched as the blood of the man he loved spread across the floor he'd been innocently sweeping an hour ago. He watched as the sunlight illuminated the greatest sin of his entire life. He watched as the reality of the situation hit him in the chest, as the hand of fate grabbed his fragile heart, ripped it from his chest, and crushed it into dust._

_And he watched and watched as the seconds ticked by, waiting for the world to rewind itself, waiting for heavy eyelids to open into a new morning, waiting for something to tell him that this was all a lie. But nothing did. Because it wasn't. This was reality. This was the truth._

_Feliciano had just let himself stab the man he loved more than anything in the back. Feliciano had let his own brother assassinate the most important thing in his life. Feliciano had just watched Ludwig die._

_And Feliciano had just died with him. _

_

* * *

_

**Dro:** And there you have it. The truth about parallel Germany's death.

**Next Chapter:** Parallel America and England, now reunited, put their plan to take down Russia into action. As the team starts to move in on Russia's home, completely unaware of the chess game he's carefully planned out, Germany and America are forced to make the decision that could cost them their lives.


	14. A Vanilla Romance

**Dro:** You know, this chapter was supposed to be them executing the plan...but then I had the bright idea of immensely complicating half the relationships in this story, just so it would be _that_ much more dramatic when the plan actually was executed and everyone was involved in a fight for their lives. So that's what I wrote instead. Enjoy, like, the closest thing to smut I'm willing to write into a T-rated story.

**Chapter Summary:** Arthur returns to the passionate relationship he had with Alfred with before his disappearance. Afterward, Ludwig and Alfred make their decision, and Alfred discovers something shocking about Matthew.

**Warnings:** Very Mildly Written Sex

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Arthur's entire body tingled. Shock. Adrenaline. Exhaustion. Joy. It all mixed together into one powerful drug, rushing through his veins and keeping him in a constant high. His entire world had just been flipped upside down. Again. Which meant it was back where it was supposed to be. Alfred was back where he was supposed to be. Just the thought of Alfred sent pleasant chills through his spine. His Alfred had returned to him.

He rolled over in his temporary cot, his eyes lingering on the window. Where the day had seemed bleak and hopeless before, there were now rays of sunshine pouring in as the sun set, rekindling the fire in his heart that had long since died. He felt rejuvenated now. He felt like the shadow that had hung over his shoulder for the last year had vanished, leaving only warmth behind. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Arthur felt peace.

He settled into the pillow. Alfred had gone out earlier to inform his men that they'd combined efforts. Apparently, Alfred had been planning to help him secretly, but now that they'd reunited, that obviously wasn't going to work. He could see a slight hint of disappointment that Alfred's plan had been compromised. The man wanted his secrecy. He wanted to surprise Russia completely. But that was, of course, not going to happen now. They'd told Alfred about Lithuania, and Alfred had instantly known his cover had been blown.

Of course, it hadn't been _his_ Alfred that had Russia was aware of, but Russia did not know of any other, and therefore…Arthur sighed. He was so happy right now, but still Russia's presence lingered in his mind. Overbearing and threatening. Always. But that would end soon. He didn't care if Russia was expecting them. _This_ would be the end. Even if it cost him his life. He gripped the sheets at the thought of being separated from Alfred again. But a world without Russia was more important than a world where he was alive to be with Alfred. If they failed here, they would all die. Alfred. Matthew. Francis. All of them. And if took Arthur's life to let them keep living theirs, then so be it.

He jumped at a knock on his door. He didn't bother answering, but the person opened the door anyway. Arthur didn't need to look back to see who it was. He could _feel_ Alfred. He immediately rolled over, meeting Alfred's tired blue eyes.

"Did I wake you?" He asked softly.

Arthur shook his head. He felt magnetized around Alfred, like they were being pulled together by a inexplicable force. Alfred moved toward the bed and laid next to him, inching closer until their faces were a hair's breath apart. Arthur swallowed. It had been _so_ long.

"Alfred…" He whispered, the desire heavy in his voice.

Alfred smiled, and then they kissed. Desperate. Hot. Heavy. Wet. Passionate. Arthur didn't care how sloppy he was being. He didn't care about his tired he was. He just wanted Alfred. More than anything in the world. He had for years. And years. And years. He pulled off his shirt, and Alfred followed suit, breaking his lips away from Arthur's and trailing soft kisses down his throat. Arthur remembered how long he spent pining after Alfred, watching woefully from the background as Alfred moved from person to person to person, restless and seeking something that no one seemed to be able to give him.

And then Alfred had seen him. Like it had been for the first time. They _saw_ each other. Truly. And Alfred had realized what Arthur had been feeling for such a long time. Their first time together had been just like this. Hesitant. Passionate. Slightly afraid of what they were stumbling onto. But so, so, so wonderful. More wonderful than anything Arthur had ever felt.

Clothing was tossed about the room. Bare skin pressed hotly on bare skin. Soft voices moaned hotly in sensitive ears. Hips pressed together in pure ecstasy. Lips and tongues came together again and again. And there was one single word in Arthur's entire mind.

Alfred.

Alfred _was_ his world in this moment. All his fears and worries and pains faded away at Alfred's touch. Alfred took away everything negative and replaced it with everything perfect and sweet and loving and pleasurable. Alfred _was_ all of those things.

Arthur panted in the afterglow, his eyes never leaving Alfred's. They stared right past each others irises and into the other's hearts. Alfred's calloused fingers caressed his sweaty cheeks. Alfred's smile caressed his damaged spirit.

"I love you." Alfred whispered.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't find his voice. Instead, a single tear slipped down his cheek. Alfred brushed it away. "Shh." He whispered. "It's all right, Arthur." Alfred pulled him close, wrapping his arms around Arthur's fatigued body. "It's all right." He whispered into Arthur's ear, over and over until Arthur believed it. He settled himself on Alfred's chest, letting the man he loved more than anything take away all his fears.

In the morning, he'd knew they return again. But Arthur let himself fall into a quiet sleep, knowing that from this day on, he wouldn't have to face them alone.

* * *

Alfred gulped down his orange juice. For being a secret underground resistance, these guys had pretty good food. Ludwig sat in the chair next to him, picking at his toast.

"You okay?"

Ludwig started, his eyes glancing up to meet Alfred's. "I'm fine."

"Liar." Alfred whispered.

Ludwig sighed. "I still don't know what to do."

"Me either." Alfred put his cup down. "But, I think I already know what I'm going to do even though my heart is pulling me two directions."

Two blond eyebrows went up. "What are you going to do?"

"Stay. And fight. And win." Alfred said with finality.

Ludwig pursed his lips. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"But you were thinking the same, weren't you?"

He sighed again. "Unfortunately."

"Well, I suppose this settles that then, huh?" Alfred pushed himself up. "I'll go tell Arthur not to worry about the spell yet. I gave it to him yesterday, and he's probably trying to set it up. But if we're not going home yet, then I don't want him working needlessly. He looks half-dead already."

Ludwig nodded. "Good idea. I'll go inform the others."

They parted ways at the door, Ludwig heading for the armory on the floor below, Alfred heading a floor up, to where Arthur had apparently been staying. He hadn't spoken to this Arthur much yet. The man was absorbed with his other self. Alfred wrenched open the stairwell door and headed up, his boots echoing loudly with each step. They were so obviously in love that it made Alfred blush just thinking about it. Sure, he _liked_ Arthur. A lot. He'd been attracted to Arthur for longer than he could remember. But the sheer _intensity_ in the way those two looked at each other. Alfred wasn't sure he could even comprehend feelings that deep.

Just as he reached the landing, the door opened, revealing Matthew in the middle of a conversation with Francis. Scratch that. In the middle of a _very_ heated argument.

"I've told you before, Papa. No! _Non!_ Never. N…" Matt trailed off as he realized Alfred was standing right in front of them. He glanced back at Francis. "This discussion is over." He brushed past Alfred and headed down the stairs, Francis quickly trailing behind him.

"_Matthieu."_

"Will you just leave me alone?"

Uncomfortable, Alfred headed through the door, letting it close behind him and cut off their yelling. He was curious about what exactly they were arguing about, but it wasn't really his business. Right? He chewed on his lip. _Maybe_ he would subtly ask Matt about later. Subtly.

He turned a corner and looked for Arthur's room, trying to recall the exact number. When he found the door, he knocked softly. No response. _Hmm, go in or go away?_ _Right, when have I ever gone for the second option?_ He turned the knob slowly, trying not to make a sound. Arthur could still very well be asleep. From the way he looked, he hadn't slept well in months. With the other Alfred back, maybe he was able to relax. Alfred peered in.

Okay, so relax was an understatement.

Big time.

Alfred's face heated up as he spied the two lovers on the bed. Arthur was splayed across his double's chest, sleeping peacefully. His other self's arm was slung around Arthur's waist. The sheets hung dangerously low on their bare hips, threatening to reveal the not-so-innocent things they had obviously been doing the night before. Even more slowly than he'd opened the door, Alfred crept back out of the room and closed it behind him.

He turned around.

And screamed.

Screamed a screamed that was muffled by a hand.

Matt's hand.

He instantly relaxed, but his heart was still beating erratically. Why the hell had Matt been standing right behind him? He hadn't even heard his brother approach. Matt removed his hand.

"Smooth." He teased.

"Well…well, that….you scared me!" Alfred whispered.

Matthew chuckled, but even through the mirth, Alfred could easily see a hint of deep hurt brewing in his eyes. Confused, he wondered why Matt was up here in the first place. "Um, why did you follow me here?"

Matt shrugged. "I had to get away from Francis somehow. When he starts bugging me, he won't leave me alone. So I quite literally have to run away until I lose him."

_He's lying._ Alfred knew. Matthew had followed him for something else. _What isn't he saying?_ He tried to piece the clues together. Matt had followed him to Arthur's room, where Arthur was still in bed asleep, naked, with Alfred's equally naked other self. And, Matt looked kind of upset. _Could it be that…?_ Pity washed over him. _Matt's in love with Arthur too, isn't he? Oh, man!_ Alfred felt really bad now. How long had his brother been competing with his other self for Arthur's affections? And, of course, losing.

"Uh…"

The sound of the stairwell door opening echoed through the halls.

"Damn. Francis." Matt spat. He grabbed Alfred's hand. "Come with me." He pulled Alfred around another corner and through another door that led up another level. Weren't they on the top floor though? _Ah, _he realized, _roof level. _Sure enough, Matt tugged him through another doorway and out onto the chilly Moscow rooftop.

"Um, are you sure we won't be seen here?" He had the distinct feeling of being overexposed here. If a scouting jet saw them, wouldn't they get bombed?

Matt gestured to a covered area made of cement. _Looks like a bus stop._ Alfred mused. Matt pulled him under it and sat him down some soft pillows. "Poland showed me this yesterday. He says he likes to come up here to think."

_And he probably has a lot of thinking to do. _Alfred thought. He'd only briefly spoken to Poland himself. Feliks was still being monitored by doctors left and right. He was in a fragile physical condition after his prolonged maltreatment by Russia. And his mental state…Alfred didn't even want to think about that. Seeing poor Toris in his current condition had made Alfred's skin crawl. To think that just last week he'd been talking to a Toris that was in perfect health. And now he was comatose. On the brink of death. Likely to have permanent mental problems.

"I guess this kind of place is good for that."

Matt nodded. "It's good to just be able to think by yourself some time, maybe out loud, maybe just in your head. Right now, everyone has so many problems that being around anyone else just makes me feel so…crowded. My brain just can't handle everyone's problems at once. You know?"

Alfred mumbled a "yeah." He understood that. He had that feeling a lot during times of war, and he'd had it recently during the financial crisis. His boss and his congress and everyone just yelling back and forth about all their issues. It made his head hurt just thinking about it. Alfred rested his head on the wall and glanced at Matt, who was staring at him. He shifted a little under the intense violet gaze and blushed lightly as he realized their hands were still linked.

"Sorry." He went to pull away, but Matt gripped his hand tighter.

"Don't. Please?"

Eyes widening, Alfred relaxed his hand and let Matt hold it. _He needs comfort, doesn't he? _Alfred was split on what to do. One the one hand, he could confront Matt on his feelings for Arthur. Maybe talking it out would help. But on the other hand, Matt might take it the wrong way (especially since Alfred happened to share a face with Arthur's object of love) and get mad at him. But if he just sat here and let Matt be sad…_Damn it. Please don't get pissed at me._

"Matt."

"Hmm?"

"About the other me and Arthur."

Matt's hand tensed. Alfred almost stopped and apologized right there, but he forced himself to address the problem.

"I know…I know about your feelings, and I…I'm sorry Matt. I know it hurts to see them together."

Matt's eyes were visibly teary. "He just doesn't understand, you know?" He whimpered.

"I know, Matt."

"I've tried so hard to get him to recognize my feelings, but he just won't acknowledge that I can even feel that way for him."

_Whoa, Arthur won't even acknowledge his feelings? What an ass! _"Look, Matt. I know this is really cliché and probably not helpful at all, but…maybe you try letting Arthur go."

Matt deadpanned. "What did you just say?"

"You know…let him go…?" Alfred swallowed nervously.

"Let…_Arthur_…go…"

"…Yeah?"

"You…you…" Matt wrenched his hand away and smacked Alfred in the face. "You idiot!"

Alfred nearly fell over. "Matt? What did I do?"

"_Mon Dieu! _You never change! You're always such an oblivious idiot!"

"What did I do this time?" Alfred was seriously at a loss here. He thought he'd at least been doing _something_ helpful. What had he said wrong?

"You…you…you…" Matt was crying now.

"Matt, please don't cry. I'm so sorry!" _What am I sorry for? What am I sorry for?_

"You…you idiot."

"Matt, will you _please _tell me why I'm an idiot?"

Matt's tear-filled violet eyes roved over him until they met his own. Slowly, Matt's hand rose up, and Alfred flinched, thinking his brother was aiming to hit him again. Instead, Matt's surprisingly soft hand cupped his face, and before his movement even registered in Alfred's brain, Matt crashed their lips together.

Alfred froze. Matt pulled himself flush against Alfred's chest, tangling his fingers in Alfred's blond locks. His mouth moved passionately against Alfred's own, lips tugging and sliding and slipping wetly over each other. Matt's eyes remained opened, searching his brother's face for any reaction.

Inside Alfred's head, a war was taking place. One side screamed at him to immediately push his _brother_ away. But that side was up against two others. One of them spoke the truth: Matt had been desperately in love with the other Alfred for a _very_ long time, but Alfred's other self was either completely oblivious to it or outright rejected any non-brotherly feeling from Matt. In which case, Matt _needed_ this. He'd been suffering silently while the other Alfred played around with one person after the other, finally settling his true love on someone that made the pain even worse: Arthur, who both of them cared greatly for. The last side was the smallest, but it tipped the scale. It was egging Alfred on with something he _really_ wanted to deny. This felt good. Really, really good. Any with two sides telling him to kiss Matt and one telling him not to, Alfred relented.

He wrapped his arms around Matt's slender waist and pulled him even closer, tilting his head to let him kiss Matt better. Matthew's worried eyes immediately fluttered shut. He kissed harder, and Alfred let him deeper it. Tongue battled, Matt's surprisingly fierce. _I'm not sure I want to know where he learned to kiss like this._ Somehow, they ended up on the ground, Matt's back pressing into the concrete and Alfred hovering over him. Matt's arms were like shackles around his neck, desperately pulling him deeper and deeper into a kiss Matt had been wanting for _years_. Alfred's eyes slipped shut, and he gave himself over to it completely, letting his hand sneak under the edge of Matt's shirt.

"Well, gee, if I'd known if you were going to like, use my special place as a love nest, I wouldn't have told you about it."

They broke apart, Alfred jumping backward so far his back hit the wall. Matthew didn't move, his wide eyes now glued to Poland. Feliks was crouched down just outside the small concrete hovel, his chin resting in a hand supported by his knee. A small smirk graced his hollowed face, and mirth filled his eyes. "The least you could've done was invite me! Because that was, like, totally hot!"

* * *

**Dro:** Ha! Ha! Ha! I love Poland. Well, that complicates things, doesn't it? Now you have parallel! Al being oblivious to parallel! Matt's feelings while Alfred is now going to be struggling with himself over his feelings for regular world Arthur versus trying not to devastate parallel! Matt further. And then you still have parallel! Francis being in love with parallel Arthur, and what was it he and Matt were fighting about in this chapter?

Jeez, I like to make things complicated, don't I? All in the name of drama, my friends.

**Next Chapter:** The nations stake out Russia's house and sneak inside, completely unaware that he's waiting for him. Along with the Italy brothers, of course. What will happen when Italy comes face to face with Germany? A break down? A battle to the death? And what will Germany do when he has to fight the love of his life?


	15. A Gilded Reality

**Dro:** It's that time again! So have at it! The final arc of this story is beginning! Expect epic clashes all around starting next chapter!

**Chapter Summary:** Alfred contemplates what to do about Matt's feelings. The team executes their plan and breaks into Russia's mansion, only for Ludwig to come face to face with his worst nightmare.

**Warnings:** Violence, Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Alfred strapped on one handgun. His mind was a battlefront again, as it had been the night before when he laid awake for three hours just thinking about the pros and cons of letting Matt release his tensions through him. On the one hand, Matt was obviously hurting, and he needed a release for his pent up feelings. On the other hand, this had the potential to hurt him even more. Alfred was going to leave this world. Matt knew that. So why was Matt getting attached to him? If they got too involved, then Matt would be only be worse off at the end of this ordeal.

He wrapped another holster around his leg and clipped it on tight. And that was only Matt's side of the problem. In any normal situation, Alfred would've been fine receiving Matt's feelings. Sure, it kind of hurt that the other man was using him as a replacement for the other Alfred, but Matt was still his brother, and he still cared, and he couldn't stand to see his brother suffer like that. But, Alfred had left his own world with a budding relationship with his own Arthur. And now, here he was betraying the man already and they hadn't even had a first date yet.

_Damn it! Why are relationships so complicated?_ _Maybe I should swear off love. _He sighed deeply, slipping a sheathed knife into his belt. He glanced at the clock on the wall. He had ten more minutes. They'd be leaving at noon to drive the rest of the way to Russia's mansion, where they would create a base camp, wait until nightfall, and then attack. He strapped on another knife. His body started feeling a little bit heavier. How many guns did he have now? Six? Plus the rifle that was laying on his bed. Well, to the resistance's credit, they were certainly well armed. Victory would no doubt come to who had the best strategy. Unfortunately, that one could go either way, as Arthur had explained to him yesterday. Russia probably already knew they were coming. Which—as Alfred had learned in the Cold War—meant Ivan was playing a game. Which, for them, could either be a good thing or a bad thing. Either he severely underestimated them, or he was more than prepared to take them out in a heartbeat.

He shook his head. _Okay, when did I get so pessimistic? I'm the hero! I'm supposed to be upbeat! I'm supposed to be…_Someone opened the door with a creak and pulled it shut behind him. Alfred paused with his weapons and turned around, spying Matt walking towards him. His rekindled resolve suddenly flickered out. Matt had a dreamy look on his face as their eyes met. _Oh boy._ He wanted to say something. He really did. But before he could get a word out, Matt wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck and kissed him again. A rush of emotions shot through Alfred's body. Passion. Attraction. Guilt. The third one was the strongest. He was leading Matt on, but how could he tell him the truth? How could possibly tell Matthew that _he_ was also in love with Arthur without it killing him? The answer was, of course, he couldn't. If he told Matt he was also in love with his own Arthur, it would crush him. And Alfred would never willingly hurt Matt. Not after the wars he'd had centuries ago. He'd sworn it. He couldn't bear to see the pain of betrayal on Matt's face again. The pain of a brotherly bond breaking in half.

His arms grabbed Matt's hips and pulled them closer, their chests flush against each other's. Matt deepened the kiss, and Alfred caught his tongue with his lips, grunting. He pushed back at Matt's tongue with his own, fiercely battling. _Seriously, where did he learn to kiss like this? I'm really fucking curious!_ Suddenly, Matt broke away from him, but before Alfred could ask why, Matt's lips attacked his still exposed throat. _I should've put my coat on first. But then Matt probably would've just pulled it off…_Alfred held Matt close while he worked on his throat, his tongue lapping at the skin. One of Matt's hands dropped from Alfred's hair and trailed down his chest. Alfred could barely feel the touch due to his bullet-proof vest, but he certainly felt it when the hand dropped to the inside of his thigh. _Okay, whoa boy!_

"Oi! Are you two ready to—Holy fucking hot twin make out!"

Alfred pushed Matt away so hard the other boy stumbled. They both looked at the doorway, where Gilbert was staring at them wide-eyed, a light pink tint on his cheeks. Alfred tried to break the silence with a good comeback, but he was at a loss. It was bad enough that Poland had caught them and kept giving them suggestive glances and giggling, but now the _worst_ possible person who could find out just had.

"You know we're not actually twins, right?" Matt finally mumbled.

"Close enough." Gilbert said, red eyes darting back and forth between them. "But, wait…_you're_ the parallel world one though, right?" He pointed at Alfred.

"Uh, yeah…"

"Uh-huh." Gilbert eyed them both suspiciously before settling his gaze on Matthew. "Living out your fantasies, eh Mattie?"

Matt frowned. "It's none of your business, Gilbert." His tone was dark.

Gilbert shrugged. "Maybe not. But don't think I can't see what you're doing. And if I can see it, then so can everyone else."

Matt crossed his arms. "Just leave, Gilbert."

"Hurry up, we're leaving in ten." He flicked his eyes over to Alfred, mentally sending a harsh accusation. Alfred had the sudden urge to hang his head in shame, and he looked away. "By the way, Matt. You know it's a little weird to have the hots for your brother, right?"

Matt scoffed. "Right, like you wouldn't sleep with Ludwig."

"I wouldn't!" Gilbert mocked hurt. "Well…maybe if I was drunk." He thought about it for a second. "Scratch that. Maybe if _he_ was drunk."

"Can you just get the fuck out?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going now." He shuffled out the door.

Alfred just glanced from the door to Matt, who was huffing and mumbling something in French that didn't sound particularly nice. Alfred took the opportunity to put on his coat and zip it up before slinging the rifle over his shoulder.

"We should get going." He rubbed the back of his head and picked up his helmet.

Matt finally met his eyes again, and after a moment of hesitation, nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

They headed for the door, but Alfred paused as Matt's hand wrapped around his wrist. He turned just as Matt leaned for one last slow, deep kiss. When they pulled apart, that dreamy look was back on his face. _A dream. Because that's all this is. _Alfred thought. _But how can possibly wake him up from it without hurting him?_

_

* * *

_

Ludwig steadied his breathing. He reflexively crouched lower as another guard passed by. They'd been scouting the perimeter of Russia's heavily fortified mansion for three hours now. The sun was dipping low in the sky, and as soon it dropped below the horizon, he knew he would get the signal from Arthur to initiate the plan. He glanced to his left, where Gilbert was hidden in a bush, then to his right, where Antonio was situated behind a tree. They were split up into three teams. Both Americas and Canada were lying in wait on the other side of the of the house. Arthur and Francis were to the east, preparing to enter through the door that led to the large kitchen on that side of the house. They would be slipping in when the cooks left for the night.

Ludwig ran over the plan again. He, Gilbert, and Antonio were to enter through the garage and hold the lower level after barring all exits. The Americas and Canada would head up to the second level and do the same, with this world's Alfred breaking off and heading up to the third floor, where Russia had been—visibly—sitting in his office for most of the day. Ludwig shifted uncomfortably. Something about this just didn't feel right. If Arthur's hunch was correct, Russia already knew they were coming. Granted, he probably didn't know what day or time, but it was _Russia_, and therefore, he was likely prepared to take them on whenever. This could quite possibly be a suicide mission. In reality, he knew, it depended on how seriously Russia took them as a threat. If he'd underestimated them, they might gain an edge, but if he'd properly guessed how strong they'd be—their numbers, weapons, strategy—then they were doomed.

He thought of Feliciano again. For all he knew, he would end up fighting this world's Italy. He could only pray that Gilbert or Antonio or someone else would be the one to fight him. He knew for a fact he wouldn't be able to kill Feliciano, corrupted by Russia or not. He adjusted his rifle. A movement caught his eye. Gilbert was signaling to him. He look across the yard, where Arthur was barely visible through the trees, giving them the signal to move. He mimicked the signal to Antonio, who nodded. _Now or never._

He waited two seconds for the guard he'd been watching for hours pass by once more. He lunged without a second of hesitation and took the man down silently, breaking his neck with a muffled crack as Ludwig landed on top of him. He heard a dying gasp as Gilbert plunged a knife into his target and a single grunt that broke the deathly silence as Antonio slammed the butt of his rifle into the third guard's head. He caught sight of Arthur and Francis finishing off their phase one, and he assumed it was going well so far.

They headed to the garage door, still open from people leaving for the night. Antonio walked up to the keyboard entry pad and typed in something. The door the house popped opened. Then they were in. Rifles loaded, they filed into the hallway. Six guards were waiting for them. Ludwig dived around the corner just as they started firing, took a breath, and whipped his rifle around, firing off three successive shots. Two of the men went down. A third fell to his knees as the bullet bit into his hip. The remaining four didn't last much longer. Antonio mowed down two of them, and Gilbert took out the last two as they tried to flee.

A whistle alerted them to Arthur and Francis' approach. "Keep watch here. Don't forget to lock the doors. There are some more guards in the other wing, but I think Alfred and Matthew, and…Alfred took care of them. We're heading up for phase two."

"Be careful, Arthur." Antonio said.

He nodded. "You too. Russia knows we're here now, so we need to be extra vigilant."

Ludwig eyed Francis, who looked really nervous. The man was a bit of a coward, sure, but when it came down to it, he was an excellent fighter. But right now he looked ready to drop dead from fright. _Is he really that terrified of Russia?_

Then they were gone, two pairs of boots resounding as they headed up the stairs. "Don't forget to secure these too." Arthur muttered as he disappeared from view.

Gilbert looked around. "Me and West will scour the hallway. Antonio, you stay here, lock up that door, and watch the stairs."

"Got it."

"Come on, West."

He followed Gilbert's lead, pushing himself ahead of his brother as the man motioned for them to change positions. They passed the bloody bodies of a couple of dead guards, and Ludwig winced. Arthur had not been kind. He wondered how the victims of the other team looked. They slowed to a crawl as they reached another intersecting hallway, and Ludwig peered around the corner, staring down another empty hallway. He signaled for them to continue, and Gilbert followed close behind.

He'd taken four steps forward when a force suddenly shoved him, causing him to stumble. "Down, West!" The sound of a blade hitting the wall rang in his ears. He twisted around and looked up, eyes widening as he saw a knife had embedded itself several inches into the wall. And less than an inch from Gilbert's face. It felt like it took him ten years to turn his head and look down the hallway. And once he saw them, he wished it had taken twenty.

Now, in the middle of the hallway, standing side by side, dressed identically, posed identically, were the Italy brothers. One was the reflection of the other, backs almost touching, opposite legs bent at the same exact angle. One left arm and one right, each holding a knife in its opposite fist, hovered less than an inch apart in the air. It was like a fun house mirror brought to life, and Ludwig thought he was going to be sick.

Their faces were identical masks of hostility. One pair of green eyes and one pair of brown were narrowed, the aura of their stares bleeding down into fierce snarls that snagged on their lips. Feliciano's eyes bored right into Ludwig's, ferocity, rage, and the utter sense of impending murder lingering in the brown pools. But behind it all, Ludwig could see something else. Something…something that didn't match the rest of him.

"W…West…" Gilbert's voice was caught in his throat. "Don't let him get to you. He's…We need to get out of here. Now." His heart was pounding in his chest. This had been his worst fear, of course, that he'd be the one who ended up fighting the Italy brothers. But, of course, Russia had probably planned it that way. The Italy brothers fighting the German brothers. One of Russia's little games. He tried to muster an unaffected front to put them off, but neither brother seemed to take notice of it. When they killed, he knew, they cleared their minds of all but their objective. And then, he knew…then they moved in synch.

"Feliciano…" Ludwig whispered. And the floodgates burst.

The brothers took off so fast that Ludwig didn't respond until they were mere feet from him, their coattails flying sleekly behind him, their knives flashing brilliantly. Gilbert and He jumped back in opposite directions, separating as two knives sliced through the air where they'd both been standing milliseconds ago. The Italy brothers passed a brief glance between each other, and then they split. Ludwig staggered up and ran, barely avoiding Feliciano's knife as it swung right by his head and cut a weeping gash into the wall, red paint flinging past like specks of blood.

Ludwig's feet took him around a corner, and then to the left, and then down. Basement level? _Shit!_ Feliciano was following him. Fast. Very, very fast. Faster even than when his own Feliciano was running away in terror. Ludwig turned a corner, and ran straight into a dead end. He whipped around and held up his rifle, listening for Feliciano's approach.

But he didn't hear it.

Ludwig swallowed nervously. Feliciano had been behind him less than two seconds ago, so where was he? Waiting right around the corner for Ludwig to scamper out, thinking he was safe? Hiding in the one of the many rooms he'd passed on the way down here, knowing Ludwig would have to pass them on the way back? It was then that Ludwig realized something, something that shook him to the core. As he stared down the dimly lit hallway, knowing he was cornered like a mouse, the idea struck him in the chest so hard he almost lost his breath. But once it was cemented in, he knew it to be true. And that scared it more than anything.

It hadn't just been the skills to kill that Russia had passed on to the Italy brothers.

It hadn't just been indifference in the face of death.

Russia had also given the Italy brothers something else, something so harmless in the hands of others that a threat of it by anyone else would warrant a laugh. But receiving this gift from Russia's twisted hands, even in rumor alone, was enough to make Ludwig fear for his life.

Russia had given the Italy brothers his love of games.

* * *

**Dro:** Well, that's not good...

**Next Chapter:** Ludwig struggles to overcome Feliciano's incredibly clever strategies. Meanwhile, Gilbert tries to escape from Lovino's rampage, but only ends up dragging Antonio into the fight, which dredges up some painful memories for the Spaniard. All the while, Russia watches from his perch on the third floor, highly engrossed in his chess game.


	16. An Amethyst War

**Dro:** Stupid long chapters. I intended to have this out by 4:00, but then I went and made it 3.4k. Bah! Anyway, have at it.

**Chapter Summary:** Germany struggles to fight off a clever and ruthless Feliciano. Meanwhile, Gilbert frantically flees from a merciless Lovino, only to end up dragging Spain into the fight. And all the while, Russia sits in his perch on the top floor, still playing his chess game.

**Warnings:** Violence, Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

He whipped around a corner, dust flying as his boots slid across the concrete floor. The dimly lit hallway was completely still, the wooden beams along the wall causing eerie shadows to be cast in all the wrong crevices. Ludwig wouldn't be able to see Feliciano if he was hiding in any of them, and he didn't have a flashlight with him. In hindsight, that probably would've been a good thing to bring for a nighttime assassination plot. He waved the barrel of his rifle back and forth, ready to aim and fire if anything moved. Nothing did.

He was attempting to retrace his steps, as he hadn't been paying attention on the way down here. In all honestly, he was lost, and he was afraid he'd be trapped down here by Feliciano if he couldn't manage to find his way to the stairs. He shuffled forward slowly, hyper-aware of the world around him. Every little speck of dust, every flicker of the lights on the wall. This place looked more like the remnants of a medieval dungeon than the basement level of a modern mansion. _It probably _was _a dungeon at one time. _He thought grimly.

Nothing but his footsteps sounded off in the hallway. Feliciano certainly hadn't left the basement. No, Ludwig knew better than that. This Feliciano was obviously highly skilled in the arts of spying and assassination. He would know exactly where to hide, exactly how to evade Ludwig's sight and hearing until the very last moment. And then he would strike with more than enough strength and accuracy to kill Ludwig in one blow. And if anything was clear from their initial assault, the Italy brothers were not taking prisoners today. Personally, Ludwig wasn't sure what scared him more, the idea of Feliciano killing him or the idea of him killing Feliciano.

_I can't do it. I know I won't be able to. Even if I get an opening, I might not even be able to shoot him. _Ludwig wasn't even sure if he could harm Feliciano, much less kill him. Every time he thought of Feliciano, the only thing that popped into his was the image of his innocently smiling lover. Despite the fact that he'd already been acquainted with the ferocity and heartlessness of this version of Italy, he couldn't split the two Felicianos apart in his head. They were the same person. Just like Arthur and Antonio and Elizaveta and Gilbert were the same people. He couldn't make himself completely break them into two separate ideas, and that could very well be the death of him.

The light flickered. He froze, his eyes frantically searching for any other sign of movement, but none appeared. _Where is he?_ He kept moving forward, one step at time, slowly and calmly. _Feigning calmness, that is_. He couldn't let the environment get to him. That was, of course, the idea here. He was in a dark, shadowy, dank basement with endless twists and turns and rooms and cobwebs and dust. Just the natural atmosphere of the place caused the hair on his neck to bristle. Feliciano would use that to his every advantage. He would try to psyche Ludwig out without even making a move to harm him. And once he had Ludwig thoroughly out of it, then he would attack.

Feliciano could've probably taken him in straightforward combat, hand to hand, and it still would've been a fair fight, Ludwig knew. But he also knew that Feliciano had been trained to strategize like this. He would make Ludwig's death as easy for himself as possible. He would be patient and clever and sneaky, and then he would strike like a snake and come away from his latest murder with perfectly clean hands. _Tch, how the hell am I going to get out of this situation?_

He rounded another corner, only to be greeted what looked like the exact same hallway. _Okay, so this is creepy. Keep it together, Ludwig. He's probably watching you right now, looking for signs that your aren't prepared for him. _He silently took a deep breath and kept moving. He made sure to glance around all the jutting wooden beams just in case Feliciano had pressed himself flat against the wall and was laying in wait for him to pass by. Spotting nothing, he kept moving, but as he surveyed his surroundings again (he was starting to be convinced he was a time loop now), he came up with even more apt details of the dungeon-like hallway. It was supported by those old, thick wooden beams that extended all the way to the ceiling. And then…crossed the ceiling…And they were close enough together that…

That someone could potentially use them to hold themselves on the ceiling.

He whipped his gun up just as Feliciano dropped, the knife sliding soundlessly into Ludwig's wrist. He bit back a scream as he wrenched the knife out of him and leapt backward, firing off two shots. Feliciano dodged with minimal effort, knowing he had just severely hurt Ludwig's aim. And he was right. Ludwig's wrist was no longer functioning properly, and it was bleeding profusely. _Shit._

Feliciano came at him, wielding two knives this time. Ludwig dodged swipe after swipe, and Feliciano spun around on his heel and shot up a powerful kick that nicked Ludwig's cheekbone. He stumbled backward, and Feliciano came at him for the kill, but he manage to fire off another three rounds, and Feliciano was forced to drop to his knees, but his momentum kept him sliding forward, and he managed to bury one of the knives in Ludwig's hip, rip it back out, slide around behind him, and right himself as Ludwig began to fall. Letting a shallow scream break free from his lips, Ludwig purposefully let himself fall just as knife cut through the air where his neck had been moments before. A knife that would've sliced right through his spinal cord.

He rolled and pushed himself back up, his hip aching in protest. Now he was bleeding from two wounds, both of which had severely limited his mobility. With one properly working wrist and his right leg limited by the knife wound that had bit into his hip bone, he was now at a severe disadvantage. Feliciano was completely unharmed, and he was already swooping in for another attack. Merciless.

Ludwig managed to dodge several blows before the knife skimmed across the skin of his shoulder, cutting right through his coat. But he used Feliciano's startling momentum against him and shot out his hand, grabbing Feliciano's wrist and pulling him forward as hard as he could. The boy lost balance and ended up tumbling over. But he managed to correct himself, turning his fall into a somersault and ending up in a crouch, ready to pounce again. But the brief two seconds of reprieve was all Ludwig needed to break into another run. Feliciano would catch up to him eventually, but if could manage to find a hiding place, then maybe he could play Feliciano's own game.

He tore around a corner at the fastest pace he could manage, the sound of Feliciano's insanely fast approach echoing off the dingy walls with each step of his pristine black boots. Ludwig's lungs were burning now. He hadn't run this fast in decades. He frantically looked around for any hiding place. He could try a room, but if Feliciano followed him in, he'd be trapped. And then he really would have a problem. So he kept running. Despite the fact that he was bleeding and leaving a perfect trail of blood to follow. Despite the fact that he was starting to feel faint from a combination of exertion and blood loss. He kept running. Because if he stopped, his lover would kill him.

And then he spotted it in the distance. His salvation. The doorway to the stairs. The open arch of the doorway beckoned to him, and he sped up even more, hearing a growl somewhere behind him as Feliciano realized what he'd stumbled upon. As soon as his foot hit that first step, his determination was immediately rekindled. He was going to escape. He was going to win this. One way or another, he would fulfill his obligations to Arthur or the others. He had to. If he didn't, he would never be able to leave this place. He would either be dead or trapped here, and neither of those were options. He would take down this Feliciano. And he would do it so he could return to his own.

He reached the top step, a sense of triumph overcoming him. The well-lit first floor welcomed him back, and he made to sprint down the hallway, intent on searching for Gilbert so they could regroup and fight this battle together.

The knife sunk into the back all the way to the hilt. Pain exploded in his back, and he went down, falling against the wall and slamming his shoulder into it. Through the immense shock, he tried to make a grab at the intruding object but found he couldn't get a viable reach on it. Which was, of course, why Feliciano had aimed there. _Damn it. Get up, Ludwig. Get up!_ But he couldn't. The best he could manage was crawling on his knees around to face his opponent. Feliciano was taking in silent, shallow breaths and slowly walking towards him, another knife at the ready.

"It seems this game of cat and mouse is at an end, Germany."

Germany held up his gun, wincing when the angle pulled at the knife in his back. Feliciano smirked. "You think you can hit me with that? You couldn't get a bullet in me even when you could stand, aim, and think straight."

Ludwig growled, low and dangerous. "Come on then. Let's see who's faster."

Feliciano's cold eyes narrowed. "Have it your way. I was going to make this painless, but if you insist on being obstinate about it, I just might hit you somewhere where it hurts."

"Bring it on." He took the deepest breath he could, feeling the knife pressing dangerously against several important things inside his body. He had one last shot at this. One last confrontation to decide whether he lived or died. Whether he ever saw _his_ Feliciano again or not.

Feliciano charged. And he fired.

* * *

Gilbert ran for his life. And Lovino chased him. He dared to glance back at the boy just time to see him practically run up the wall and leap off of it, flipping over top of Gilbert and landing in front of him. Gilbert ground to a halt, his boots sliding across the carpet and dragging the material with him. He barely managed to dodge a knife that barreled just past his face. _Why do they keep aiming for my face, damn it!_ He pulled out a handgun and aimed it to fire, but a boot swung around and slammed into his wrist, costing him his grip. The gun clattered to the floor several feet away. _Shit._

He rolled to the left as that same boot came down, hitting the floor where he'd just been so hard that the wood beneath it cracked. _That was almost my head! _Lovino hissed as pain shot up his heel. "You…" he seethed. Gilbert managed to stand just as the older Italy started another barrage, fist and knives and kicks and knees and elbows coming at him from every direction. The boy was so fast that Gilbert almost couldn't keep up. The only thing keeping him from his imminent death was his intense focus on the glint of the knife as it reflected the bright white light beaming down from the chandeliers in the hallway. Finally, he managed to break away from Lovino's frenzied jabs and make a run for it. He pulled out another gun and fired blindly behind him, the bullet shattering a vase on one of the several wooden tables that littered the walls of the hallway. Lovino winced as glass went flying past his face, but he didn't stumble and he kept his increasing pace, quickly closing the gap between him and Gilbert.

Gilbert tried to run even harder, but his body, weighed down with several pounds of equipment, wasn't agreeing with him. _Shit, this kid is going to kill me. He's going to kill me before I can avenge you, Roddy. _No. No, he wouldn't let that happen. _I swear to Gott, even if I die right here, right now, I'm taking this bastard boy down with me. And then…then I guess I'll be seeing you sooner than I thought, eh Roddy?_

Resolved, Gilbert stopped dead in his tracks and spun around, facing a surprised Lovino head on. He fired all the shots he had left in the gun, none of them hitting Lovino as the boy swiftly moved to anticipate each of their trajectories and dodge them all. Gilbert reached for another gun, ready for Lovino's assault. But the boy didn't slow down to stop or attack. He veered to the side, leapt onto a table, flipped off it and flew straight for Gilbert. He spun around to make a break for it, but Lovino soared over top of him, and before Gilbert knew what was happening, a pair of crossed legs had caught him around the neck. Lovino landed hands first on the floor, using both Gilbert's momentum and his own to pull Gilbert forward with a mighty heave. The boy's legs locked around his neck, Gilbert cried out as his world flipped upside down before he was slammed into the floor. Lovino followed him over, flipping himself back upright, releasing Gilbert's neck at the moment of impact, and immediately straddling Gilbert's winded form, pressing the edge of his knife into the soft skin of Gilbert's neck, right over top of his throbbing jugular vein.

"You lose, Gilbert."

_Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Shit, Roddy, I failed you. _Gilbert glared at Lovino, determined to get one last jab at the boy. "Fuck you, you stupid Italian whore! Just remember who the good guys were when Russia throws your used up ass out on the street."

Anger flashing in his eyes, Lovino sneered and tensed his hand, preparing to slit Gilbert's neck open. Gilbert's breath caught in his throat. _Holy shit, this is really it! _He closed his eyes.

The click of a gun stopped time itself. Gilbert's eyes shot open, and he was met with the shock gaze of Lovino, who was adamantly refusing to turn around and look at the person who had come up behind him.

Antonio.

He was standing only a few feet away, his gun aimed right at Lovino's head. "Put the knife down, Lovi." Antonio's voice was steady, but Gilbert could still sense the pain behind it. He'd been so close to Lovino. He'd practically raised the boy. Antonio had considered Lovino to be the closest thing he had to family, and the boy had brutally betrayed him.

"How about you put the gun down, Toni?" Lovino's voice held that same, solemn calmness, but Gilbert could see the emotion boiling in his green eyes. He could try to deny it all he wanted, but he obviously still had feeling for Spain.

"Or we could both just drop our weapons and end this foolishness." Antonio countered.

"I doubt that would do much good considering we'd both just draw new ones."

"Lovi…just end this already."

"I was trying to when you interrupted."

"You know, even after all this time, I still can't figure out what you're trying to gain from doing this." Antonio chuckled.

Gilbert stared at Antonio open-mouthed. Antonio sounded like he didn't blame Lovino for a single thing. He sounded nothing but confused, like a schoolboy baffled by a shy girl's actions. He sounded like he had completely brushed off all the murder and death and betrayal and had just been waiting patiently at his summer home on the beach for his little lost Lovino to come back.

"You were always too dense to figure out such complicated things, weren't you, Antonio?" Lovino tried to sneer, but his voice had lost its edge, and he sounded close to stuttering and breaking down.

"That's hurts, Lovi." Antonio smiled.

"It should, you fool."

"Look at me, Lovino."

Lovino gripped the knife until his knuckles turned white. The next thing Gilbert knew, the knife was embedded in the wall and Lovino was standing in front of Antonio, who looked shocked. Lovino had pressed his forehead to the barrel of the gun.

"There. Now what, Antonio? Do you want me to tell you I was wrong? That I made the biggest mistake of my life and dragged my _fratello_ down with me? That I'll forever have the blood of my former friends on my hands, including yours, and that it hurts me to look at myself in the mirror because all I see is a unforgivable wretch drenched in the blood of his comrades? Huh? You think I haven't thought those things enough? You think I need to say them out loud?"

"L—Lovi…"

"That's what you wanted, right? For me to admit I was wrong."

"No…I just wanted…I just wanted to understand _why…_Why would put yourself through this?"

"You couldn't understand even if I told you." Lovino pressed himself harder against the gun. "I betrayed you, Antonio, and I don't care how happy a mask you wear for everyone else. I can see right through you. I can see how much it hurts you to even look at me, to speak to me. You feel irreparably betrayed, and don't lie and tell me I'm wrong. Because I know you, and I'm not. So let's just end this."

"Lovi….what…?"

"Shoot me."

Antonio paled.

"You've won this, haven't you? You got the best of me. Isn't this what you came here for, to take down Russia's regime? I'm a major part of that, yes? So shoot me. And end this."

Antonio was trembling by this point. This wasn't how he'd thought this would go down. He'd been sure Lovino wouldn't drop his vicious, heartless façade so readily. He'd been sure the boy would keep on pretending. But here he was, standing in front of him completely exposed and willing to die, a tidal wave of painful emotions threatening to break free from his eyes. The most prominent was regret. God, Antonio couldn't even fathom regret that deep.

"Lovino…"

Lovino looked like man standing at the gallows, calmly waiting for the hangman to drop the floor out from under him. " I killed Roderich, Antonio. I killed a hell of a lot of your closest friends and comrades. I'm a part of the regime that has torn your country to pieces and massacred your people. I'm hopeless and stained and corrupt beyond any means of redemption. Shoot me, Antonio!"

The gun hit the floor.

"No."

* * *

Ivan sighed happily, glancing at his two little black knights on the chess board and then back at the screen, where Lovino was chasing after a terrified Gilbert and Feliciano was facing down an injured Germany. He let his eyes trail down to the countdown at the corner of his screen. 2.35.43.

From there, his contented eyes flicked back up to the lower part of his screen. On one side, Arthur and Francis were rapidly ascending to the third floor, slightly winded after a battle with several guards. On the other side, three armed and masked men were securing the second floor, one of them breaking off from the other two and heading to apparently catch up with Arthur. Ivan smiled as he eyed the three masked men.

"Now, who are you, I wonder?" Three men. But only two he could guess the identities of. He eyed his chess board. There was phantom piece there now that threw his careful alignment off. He smiled. He would need to do something about that. He leaned over and grabbed his pipe from where it sat against his desk. Standing up, he eyed his chess board again. A black knight aligned to take out a white one. The other knight taking on two white pieces at once. A white king drawing ever closer to the black one without ever realizing he had a black rook trailing right behind him. And this was an interesting development. A resurrected white queen who thought she was hiding in the shadows, coming at the black king from a different position than her king.

But he didn't have any more room for extra pieces. So, he would need to do something about that. He glanced at the screen again, where the two remaining masked men seemed to be conversing. Nope. No room for extra pieces.

* * *

**Dro:** Hm, so much suspense!

**Next Chapter:** Russia sneaks up on Alfred and Matthew, intent on taking out the two unwelcome "guests." Meanwhile, Arthur and Francis are surrounded by guards, and Francis finds himself in a major bind. Carry out his promise to Russia in exchange for Russia's promise? Or side with Arthur and practically assure his death?


	17. A Slate Reminder

**Dro:** Ah ha! On time today! Take that, bitches! -cough- Sorry about that. It makes me feel good when I meet my deadlines. Anyway, have at this. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I do.

**Chapter Summary:** Ivan takes a crack at the masked Alfred and Matthew and finds something that both excites and pleases him. Meanwhile, Francis and Arthur get surrounded by guards, and Francis is forced to make a decision that could ruin his relationship with Arthur forever.

**Warnings:** Violence, Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Alfred peered around the corner and signaled an 'all-clear' to the other two. His other self blew by him and out into the open, head darting left and right as he scoured the empty hallway. Taking out the first few guards hadn't been a problem, but it was likely many more were grouped strategically around the building, laying in wait for their approach in order to ambush them. Alfred had no doubt in his mind that this was all one of Russia's games. The man had probably planned out every step of this. They would have to outdo the man's cruel twists and turns in order to even get to him, and by then, they'd probably be exhausted, giving them a disadvantage against Russia, who was probably sitting upstairs drinking vodka and chuckling to himself.

"Okay, this is where we split, you two. I'll be heading right, toward the staircase, where I should meet up with Arthur and Francis. Alfred, you hold this side of the hall. Matt, you scout and report back to Alfred every few minutes. There are probably guards all along this level. Don't take any chances. Proceed with caution. I don't want any fatalities on our part."

Matt nodded and started heading down the hall, rifle at the ready. As soon as he disappeared around a red-walled corner, Alfred's other self turned to him. He couldn't see the man's face, which was still obscured by his helmet, but he could already guess what the man was about to tell him.

"You take care of Matt, you hear?"

"Of course." Alfred nodded. He had a lot of things to take care of concerning Matt, he mused, but for the time being, he needed to push his feelings aside and concentrate on one thing and one thing only. Bringing Russia down without losing anyone. This would be a pointless venture if all or most of them died in the end. Then who would really be the victor? Russia may have lost his throne in that case, but the rest of the world would've lost its nations. "He's my brother. I'll protect him no matter what."

His double gave him a curt nod and sprinted off. Alfred watched him until he vanished from view, then he took a good inventory of his surroundings. It had the same features as the first floor. Lavish—and outlandish—red walls with ornate gold trim. Tables dotted the walls along the hallway, furnished with priceless-looked vases and sculptures. Alfred snorted. He never would've guessed Ivan was an artsy type of guy. The Ivan he knew wasn't like that at all. Or was he? Alfred frowned. _After this is all over, I'll make sure I get to know Ivan better. _

Alfred waited patiently in the silent hallway, taking quick glances left and right every few seconds just in case someone was attempting to sneak up on him. He certainly couldn't let his guard down. For all he knew, guards were hiding in every single room, just waiting for a signal to attack. It seemed unlikely, as they hadn't spotted anyone in any of the rooms from the outside, but it could've always been some sort of ploy. Alfred rocked back and forth on his heels. This was the only problem he'd ever had with covert operations like this. He always ended up bored. Pouting, he decided to take a closer look at the crystal sculpture on the table next to him.

A cherub. He moved his head around it, watching as the crystal sparkled in the light of the torch-styled lamps on the wall. It _was_ pretty. He'd give Russia that. He eyed it with wonder, almost mesmerized by it. Then he snapped out of it, knowing he had to get to back to work. Matt would chastise him if he came back around the corner and saw him abandoning his post. On that note, where was Matt?

Alfred looked to where Matt had run off to but saw no sign of him. Checking his watch, he saw Matt had left over ten minutes ago. He was supposed to have checked in by now. A pit of nausea rose up in his stomach. _He's probably fine, Al. He just lost track of time, and it's a big building._ Alfred tried to calm himself, but now he felt on edge. Five minutes. He'd wait five more minutes, then he'd go searching for Matt if his brother had not returned.

He didn't.

Frowning and now filled with worry, Alfred took off in the direction Matt had gone. He turned the corner, expecting to see something—anything—but this hallway was just as silent as the last. Now he was really worried. He thought back to what Matt had told him earlier. The argument he'd had with Francis the other day had apparently been over Matt's inclusion in this plan. Francis had been desperately trying to get Matt to go back to the French base, using his recent injuries as an excuse. But Matt had been obstinate and unwavering.

Now Alfred was starting to wish Matt really had gone back. What if something had happened to him? What if someone had shot him and dragged his body off? But wouldn't Alfred have heard that? This whole floor was eerily silent. He would've heard a pin drop. He shuffled down the hallway slowly, his boots dragging on the red carpet. The only sounds that caught his ears were his own breathing, the creaks on the wooden floorboards as he stepped down on them, and his heartbeat, which was now pounding against his ribcage. He came to an intersection of hallways and peered around the corner. The same creepy stillness. The same complete silence.

Something was really, really wrong here.

With a shaky sigh, he turned back straight to continue his current path. But a glint of something caught his eye. He paused and looked back down the other hallway. A single door hung open just a fraction, but beyond it, Alfred could see the light from the hallway shining on something black and metallic. A rifle. On the floor. His feet started moving before his brain caught up. He ran up to the door and pushed it open the rest of the way, fully prepared to find his brother's bloody body laying there.

But it wasn't. The only thing in the dark room was Matt's rifle. And it _was_ Matt's rifle. It had the insignia of a maple leaf on it, courtesy of his alter self. But if Matt's rifle was here, then where was Matt? There were no signs of struggle, no blood splatters on the floor. There was just Matt's rifle, sitting there still and ominous, the only indicator that anything had gone awry.

"Matt, what happened to you?"

* * *

Matthew adjusted his rifle. How long was it supposed to be before he checked back with Alfred? Five minutes? Seven? He glanced at his watch. He still had a couple minutes left. He turned down another hallway and kept going. All the hallways looked the same to him, and it was starting to mess with his head. Russia had apparently built his mansion to be a pseudo-labyrinth, probably to confuse any unwanted guests. Well, it certainly had a negative effect on him. He knew the layout though, so even without looking at the scenery, he knew where he was going.

It was very unsettling, however. All the doors on every hall were closed, and Matthew got the distinct feeling that at any second, someone would jump out at him. He took a deep breath and continued on, slowly surveying each and every doorway, scrutinizing the small gaps under each one just in case he saw movement. There was none, and he was slightly relieved. Russia's mansion was mostly empty this time of day. And that was a blessing. He couldn't imagine the chaos that would be going on had they decided to execute this plan during the day, when all the mansion's staff was here. That would've been pandemonium.

He took another glance at his watch. _Oh, time to get back._ He turned on his heels and made to sprint down the hallway. He saw the door open in his periphery, but before he could even hope to respond, a pair of arms shot out and grabbed him, pulling him inside the room and closing the door behind him. He struggled and went to scream at the same time, trying to alert Alfred, but his assailant ripped his helmet off and slapped a cloth-covered hand over his mouth and nose. Matthew froze.

Chloroform.

He tried to hold his breath and went limp, pretending he was passing out. But if the man didn't let up soon, he really would. But it seemed Matthew was out of luck. The man continued to hold him tightly, pressing the cloth even harder against his face. He struggled not to let his burning lungs take a breath, but eventually it became to much. He felt woozy the moment he inhaled, and his consciousness started to fade around. His last moment of clarity was also one of fear.

"Nice attempt, Comrade Matvey, but I am not so stupid, da?"

_Oh dieu. It's….it's…_The world faded away.

* * *

When he came to, the first thing he realized was that his hands were tied behind his back. He pulled at them, but they didn't budge. They were roped together tightly, a soft cloth underneath to prevent the coarse rope from chafing his skin. The second thing he realized was that he was gagged. The cloth tied tightly around his head pressed against his tongue, and he couldn't manage a single intelligible word. When he snapped his eyes open at the realization that he was bound and gagged, he immediately recognized the gravity of the situation. He was positioned on his side on a couch, wearing only his button-up shirt and trousers. All of his gear had been stripped away. He flicked his eyes around, terrified, and finally—reluctantly—they landed on the man sitting at the desk, staring longingly into his large computer monitor as it showed the displays from several security cameras.

Matthew didn't dare move. He felt his resolve crumbling beneath him. Russia had captured him, damn it! _This wasn't supposed to happen. Fuck! I spent all these months toughening myself up, fighting on the front lines, bettering myself mentally and physically…just to let Russia capture me twenty minutes after we invade his house. _He wanted to cry. But he refused to give Russia the satisfaction.

Russia, who was now looking at him, amused. Matthew swallowed roughly, the gag in his way. Russia pushed his chair back and stood up, making his way over to Matthew. With each step, Matthew felt more and more terrified. What would Russia do to him? Slowly torture him to death? Beat him to a pulp with his pipe? Dare he think it…rape him? Apparently, Russia had none of those ideas at the moment, because he simply crouched down in front of Matthew and stuck out a bare hand, gently brushing Matthew's hair out of his face and tucking it behind his ear.

Matthew was ashamed to admit he shuddered at the touch. Russia just snickered. "I was…very surprised to be finding you here today, Comrade Matvey. I had heard terrible, terrible rumors that you had perished on your front. I was most upset to know my dear Matvey was no more."

There were a lot of things Matthew wanted to say back to him, most of them variably nasty. It was probably a good thing he was gagged, lest he say something that angered Russia. He was not in a position where he had that luxury. One slip and Russia might decide to kill him. On that note, why hadn't he? _What could he possibly be keeping me alive for? _

"Imagine my surprise to find you roaming my hallways." Ivan wrapped a lock of Matthew's hair around his finger and twirled. "I was most amused and happy!" Ivan smiled, deceptively gleeful. Matthew was no fool. He could see the constant malicious intent brewing behind the surface of Ivan's gaze. "Do you know how long I have been waiting to speak to you again? I was occupied over here in Europe and could not see you all these many months, and it saddened me so. But now you are here, and we may speak again, da?"

_You mean you can speak and force me to listen. _Matthew couldn't help but glare at him.

Russia seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. The man reached around and undid the gag, pulling the damp fabric from Matthew's mouth. Matthew coughed and swallowed dryly. He licked his sore lips and shot another glare at Russia, who shrugged.

"My apologies, Comrade Matvey, but I did not want you yelling. Alerting anyone to your presence in my office would be…unfavorable to me. You understand, da?"

Actually, he didn't understand. How could that situation possibly hurt Russia? All it would do was alert Arthur and Alfred and Francis that he'd been captured, which would cause them to panic and possibly ruin the plan. Then again, the plan had already been ruined by him, hadn't it? When the others got here to fight Russia, the man would probably just use him as a shield. Matthew hung his head. Maybe Francis had been right. Maybe he shouldn't have come here.

"Do not look so down, Matvey. The two of us can now have much fun again, da?"

"W—what?" Matthew's voice was hoarse, and his throat burned.

Russia just nodded. "Much fun after this little inconvenience." Two pairs of purple eyes flicked over to the computer screen, where Arthur and Francis were now surrounded by guards. Fear shot through Matthew's stomach.

"What are you planning?"

"Hm? For them?"

"No, for me!" What the hell was Russia getting at here? He'd been sure Russia was _not_ taking prisoners.

Russia simply smiled at him again. "What kind of question is that, Matvey? We will be together again, da?"

Matthew swore his heart stopped. "What?" He breathed out.

Russia just chuckled again, his hands slipping behind Matthew's head and jerking him forward. Russia's cool breath slipped into his ears, carrying with it words that chilled Matthew to bone. "I have spent many months longing to you have back with me, Matvey." He moved Matthew's head so their faces were close together, noses brushing. "My _old lover_."

He pulled Matthew into a brutal kiss.

* * *

Somehow, Arthur's ragged breaths were the only sound in the air. Twenty guns pointed at them from all sides, twenty fingers lingering on triggers, threatening to press down. He pressed his back harder against Francis'. The guards had come out of nowhere, pouring around corners and out of rooms. An ambush. Of course. They'd been expecting something like this entire way, but somehow, they'd still ended up in this bind. His hands tightened on his rifle. It would take a lot more to kill the two of them than it would to kill a human guard, but outnumbered ten to one, there was no way they could escape unscathed. And if they were too injured to fight Russia, then this entire escapade would have been in vain.

On the reverse side, Francis stood upright, solemnly contemplating his options. He had two choices here. He could go with his deepest desires and fight with his _Angleterre_ to the death here. But then what would he have accomplished? He would have betrayed Arthur over and over for nothing in the end, and he would've broken his love's trust in vain. Everything he'd done, everything he'd planned, all his sacrifices…they would've been pointless. Then there was the other option, the one he hated to consider. But his second option would save Arthur's life. And what did he want more than anything else in the world if not for Arthur's survival? That had been the purpose of everything. How many assassination attempts had he managed to dissuade Ivan from with his loyalty? How many bullets had Arthur's skull been saved from? Ivan could have killed Arthur a thousand over if not for Francis' promise to him. Keeping Arthur alive was the only that mattered. The only thing.

Even if that meant betraying him.

Even if that meant Arthur would hate him for the rest of his life.

So he pulled out his pistol and gripped it tight.

"_Angleterre, je t'aime." _

He felt Arthur stiffen against him just as he pulled away and whipped around.

"Francis, what—?"

Francis slammed the butt of his pistol into Arthur's temple. One brief moment of shocked flitted through Arthur's eyes before his consciousness left him. Francis caught him before he hit the floor. He stuffed his pistol back into its holster and glared up at the guards, who all looked confused. Francis cradled Arthur in his arms and rose, frowning.

"Tell Ivan I have the resistance leader."

* * *

**Dro:** Don't lie. You did _not_ see that coming. So, the question stands: How many more romantic twists will Dro throw into this story before it ends?

**Next Chapter:** Matthew is forced to face up to his past relationship with Ivan as the man explains what he wants the Canadian for. Meanwhile, alter Alfred watches in horror as Francis betrays Arthur, and he vows to kill France no matter what. Then, we return to Ludwig and Feliciano, who grapple with each other in a struggle to the death that ends...rather abruptly as something hits them both.


	18. A Harlequin Midnight

**Dro:** Wooh! I like Fridays. My last class ends at 1:50, and it's a lab, so I always get out at like 1:00. Anyway, have at it! And **review** for me, darlings!

**Chapter Summary:** Matthew finds his old feelings suddenly brought to the forefront and threatening to take him over. Meanwhile, alter-Alfred watches in horror as Francis betrays Arthur, and he vows to kill the man no matter what. Finally, we return to Feliciano and Ludwig, whose final showdown comes to an abrupt end.

**Warnings:** Suggestive Themes, Violence, Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

If anyone had asked him later, Matthew would have told him that he had struggled desperately to get out of Ivan's grasp. He would have claimed to kick and scream and bite and growl and swear. He would have described a fierce battle with Ivan in order to escape from the man's cold embrace. He would've assured his listener that he'd tried everything possible to escape from the most evil man in the world. He would have told them every single excuse in the book to keep himself true in the eyes of his comrades and friends. He would've claimed to have fought Ivan back without a single moment of hesitation.

And it would've all been a lie.

Matthew went rigid against Ivan's lips the moment the man started kissing him. But that quickly dissipated, and Matthew found himself greedily kissing back. What his mind had marked off as the worst decision of his life, what his heart had forsaken, his body remembered. Sixteen years was too long a time to just shrug off. Too long to pretend it had never happened. Too long to ever deny it to his former lover.

Matthew was in love Alfred, but he had not forgotten Ivan.

Through the alarm bells ringing in his head, Matthew found a dormant chest of desire had been unlocked and opened. Ivan's kiss was just like he remembered, though it had been well over a decade since their last one. Ivan's fingers gently caressed his cheeks, urging him to kiss harder. Ivan's lips were both hot and cold, both passionate and empty, both human and nation. He was Russia, but he was Ivan, and those things were two entities in one body, as Matthew had learned longed ago. Those two sides of the man constantly battled for domination. But neither would ever win. The cold, tundra-like country would sometimes be pushed back, leaving a warm-hearted and confused man in its wake. Other times, the country would win and banish Ivan's compassion to a frozen prison, leaving in its place something not quite…human. And sometimes, both sides would surface at once, creating a bastardization of humanity and monstrosity. Matthew had watched this ebb and flow for years, learning how to work around Ivan's moods.

He told himself he was only responding to Ivan's advances in order to get the psychopath to favor him. If Ivan's barrier of permanent distrust could be dented by Matthew's compliance, then he could quite possibly find a way to escape. He, knew, however, that his excuse was just that. An excuse. True, but an excuse nonetheless. He _wanted_ this, as much as he hated to admit it. He had not left Ivan because of a lack of passion—or even a lack of love. He had left because he'd been scared. Ivan's increasingly erratic behavior had become unbearable. Matthew had begun to fear _not _for _his_ safety but for the safety of his friends. Ivan had never physically harmed him. Even now, after being knocked unconscious with chloroform and tied up, Matthew knew Ivan had not _hurt_ him.

He didn't know where Ivan's restraint came from in his case. The man was typically willing to hurt anyone and anything that even slightly irritated him. But he would not harm Matthew. And Matthew wondered if he could somehow use that to his advantage. After Ivan finished making out with him.

Their tongues met. Matthew heard a low groan and blushed as he realized it had come from his own mouth. He heard and felt the low chuckle in Ivan's throat. Ivan's tongue dominated his own, pressing roughly against it, wetly sliding around it, tasting his very essence. Matthew's cheeks were on fire. God, if someone saw him like this. He really couldn't deny he was into it. Passion and sex had never been the things that were missing from his relationship with Ivan.

_Al._ The guilt grew every second. Any minute now, he was sure, he would explode from the sheer volume of it. He loved Alfred. He wanted to be with Alfred more than anything. He'd dedicated himself to somehow catching Alfred's attention such a long time ago. And he'd still lost his chance. It hurt, knowing Alfred would not even acknowledge his feelings. Matthew had made several moves toward a relationship with Alfred, and the man hadn't even given him an ounce of reciprocation. It hurt. Matthew's chest ached. And the other Al was leaving as soon as this fiasco was over. Either that or he would die. Here. Tonight. It hurt so much.

He kissed Ivan with everything he had. His unbound legs wrapped themselves around Ivan's waist. It was awkward with Matthew's hands tied behind his back, but he managed to pull himself forward until his chest pressed against Ivan's. Ivan made a sound of surprise. He obviously hadn't expected Matthew to give in like this. Honestly, Matthew hadn't expected it either. He should've been struggling to get away. He tried to convince himself this was just a clever method to escape, and that was what he would tell anyone else if they found out. And it was a lie. Always a lie. He'd lied to himself about Alfred. About Arthur. About _himself_.

Ivan's hands left his face the same time his mouth did. They grabbed at the rope binding Matthew's hands together and deftly untied it. Matthew hands sprung free from the rope and tangled themselves in Ivan's hair as the man bit softly on his neck. Ivan sucked on the skin, and Matthew let out a low moan. His thoughts were starting to get clouded. He clenched his eyes. _Keep it together, Matthew. If you let yourself go, you'll let everyone down. _He shuddered as he inhaled, Ivan's teeth grazing his collarbone. Ivan's nose brushed against his chest as he slid lower and lower, unbuttoning his shirt along the way. Matthew could feel the desire rolling off himself in waves. _Mon Dieu. I need to stop this before…_Ivan's tongue dipped into his navel, and Matthew whimpered loudly. Ivan chuckled. A hand brushed against the front of his pants, and Matthew groaned in frustration.

"Stop teasing me!" He growled.

Ivan snickered. "If that's what you want, Matvey." Fingers grabbed at the button on his pants, and Matthew let his eyes slip shut in anticipation.

Then someone knocked on the door. Matthew swore.

Ivan just laughed. "It appears we will have to continue this later." He rose, sealing their lips together one last time.

_Motherfucker! _Matthew wanted to kick him in the goddamned balls. But he had to cease that little plan as Ivan headed for the door, quickly trying to button up his shirt before whoever was on the other side saw him. Ivan paused just before opening the door.

"Ah, Matvey, you may want to retie your hands."

Matthew furrowed his brows. "Why?"

"You will see momentarily."

Matthew grabbed at the cloth and rope and lightly tied his hands together, making it look like he couldn't escape. What was Ivan doing now? Why would he need to appear tied up if Ivan wanted him on his side? Unless…who was on the other side of that door? Matthew got his answer moments later, and he wished more than anything he had never asked the question in the first place.

Ivan wrenched the heavy door open to reveal Francis standing in front of it, surrounded by guards.

With an unconscious Arthur in his arms.

* * *

Alfred ambled up the stairs toward the third floor. Arthur and Francis had obviously ended up ahead of him. Their first meet up point had been at the base of the stairs, but on the occasion that Alfred took too long, they would head up before him. He hit the last step, wondering idly if his other self and Matthew were all right. He hadn't run into any more trouble, but there was always the possibility that there was an ambush waiting for him. Ivan was a master of traps.

His feet skidded along the carpet as he spotted a group of guards in the distance, and he rapidly leapt a few feet to the left, hiding himself down another hallway. Cautiously, he peered around the wall, spying a circle of guards. There were surrounding something.

Someone.

Arthur and Francis.

Alfred's heart clenched. _Shit._ They had anticipated all sorts of ambushes, but there had always been the possibility they'd still get caught by one. Alfred counted. Too many for him to take out before they'd had a chance to kill his comrades. If he wasn't fast enough, Arthur could…He took a deep breath. No, he had not come all this way just to lose everything in the end.

He readied his gun.

He aimed at the guard in the middle of the crowd, trying to see if he could scatter the hoard and provide his friends with an escape route. His finger tightened on the trigger, his rifle providing a trajectory that would lead straight to the man's skull.

Then he saw Francis move. He faltered, missing his shot, as he watched, horrified, as Francis whipped around and pistol-whipped Arthur in the face. Arthur didn't even have a chance to react. His unconscious body fell over, and Francis settled a hand around his back to ease his descent. Adopting a completely different persona from anything Alfred had ever seen before, Francis hoisted Arthur into his arms and stared down the guards.

"Tell Ivan I have the resistance leader."

Alfred's blood ran cold. It couldn't be. No. No. No. Not Francis. Out of all of them…out of everyone it could've possibly been…how could…Francis _couldn't_ be a spy. He was Arthur's closest friend!

And therefore, the perfect double agent.

Alfred's icy veins were suddenly melted by a surge of fiery rage. _How dare that bastard! How dare he betray Arthur! I swear to God as soon as I save Arthur, I'm going to kill you, you traitorous motherfucker! _As soon as he had a shot, he swore, he'd blow a hole right through Francis' skull. _I will end you, you son of a bitch. _Furious blue eyes watched as Francis walked off with Arthur in his arms, the guards following him.

A veil of fear fell over Alfred. They were taking Arthur to Ivan. His pulse quickened. How long would Ivan keep Arthur alive before…? He had to do something. He had to get Arthur out of Ivan's clutches before that bastard hurt him…or worse. He'd never forgive himself if he stood by and let Arthur die. He was still the hero, damn it! And he loved Arthur. More than anything. _You're the one I've been waiting for my entire life. Always right in front of me but always invisible on my radar. And now I finally have you…and I'll be damned if I let myself lose you again._

He watched as the crowd disappeared around the corner.

Then he followed.

* * *

Time had slowed to a crawl. One moment, Feliciano had been running full speed at him, knife drawing ever closer to his neck or stomach or heart or wherever Feliciano wanted to land his final blow. But the next second, Feliciano seemed to be moving in slow motion, and though Ludwig's clarity was oddly lucid, he moved with the same slow pace. His brain felt like it was working a thousand times faster than his body. His arms slowly shifted to aim at Feliciano's prone body. His finger slowly pulled the trigger.

Too slow.

Feliciano maneuvered around the shot, and it blew chunk out of the wall instead of him. So Ludwig fired again, and Feliciano dodged again. And again. And again. Like a skipping record. But with every skip, the distance between them grew smaller and smaller. Feliciano neared him, poised to deliver the kill, and Ludwig desperately fired one last shot.

Feliciano slammed into him, his leg knocked out from under him by the force of the bullet. But he didn't stop his assault. Ludwig pushed him off as the knife came swinging for his neck, and Feliciano retaliated with a kick, sending Ludwig sprawling over. He cried out as the knife in his back shifted again, tearing into the muscles around his shoulder. The time it took Ludwig to recover from the rush of pain was all the time Feliciano needed to get to his feet, blood dripping from the wound in his thigh, and initiate another assault.

Ludwig knew he'd never get up in time. He faced away from Feliciano, pushing himself up as quickly as he could. He turned his head just in time to the knife swing down toward his back. _Damn it_. He clenched his eyes shut, waiting for the pain.

It never came.

Ludwig cautiously opened his eyes, craning his neck to get a look at Feliciano's face. The knife dug into the material of Ludwig's shirt, stopping just short of piercing the skin. Feliciano's hand was rigid, but Ludwig could see the subtle tremors running through it. His eyes trailed up Feliciano's arm until he got to his eyes.

He'd never seen an expression like that on Feliciano's face. It didn't look like fear. It didn't look like sorrow. It didn't look like pain.

It was more than any of those things separately and greater sill than any of them combined. It was the worst thing Ludwig had _ever_ seen in Feliciano's expressions. Even past Feliciano's mercilessness and indifference. Even past the fury and heartlessness. Even past the look of grim satisfaction that flickered across his face when he'd successfully injured Ludwig.

There was only one way to describe Feliciano's eyes.

Haunted.

As soon as Ludwig made eye contact, Feliciano stumbled backward, his injured leg causing him to fall over. The knife clattered to the floor, the hand that had once held it now covering Feliciano's mouth. He was gripping his face so hard, his fingers had turned white, and his face had drained of its color. Brown irises were unfocused and dilated. Like he wasn't there anymore. Like he was somewhere else. Somewhere in the past.

Ludwig immediately knew what he was seeing. He'd seen it before. So many times.

_He's remembering when he killed the other me. He's having a flashback. He's...he has post traumatic stress disorder. _A wave of pity washed over him. A small voice in the back of his mind told him to shoot Feliciano and get it over with. The guy had killed the other him! But this…cruel, heartless, premeditated murder did not usually garner emotional damage like this. There was something else going on here. Something wasn't right.

"You," he started, "did you really kill the other me?"

Feliciano's eyes widened, and he looked like he was really seeing Ludwig for the first time. And Ludwig knew.

"You didn't, did you? You didn't kill your Germany, did you?"

Tears ran down Feliciano's face as slowly shook his head.

"Who did?" Ludwig dared to ask.

Feliciano shook his head again. "No, that…it's not for you to know…it's not…you can't…this isn't…I have to…there's other…I have to kill you! I have no other option!"

"You always have more than option, Feliciano." Ludwig was really suspicious now. He watched as the double of his lover quickly broke down in front of him. Feliciano gripped his hair pulled at it, crying out in frustration.

"Stop it!" He screamed at no one. "I have to! I have to do it! I failed before! I'm empty and hopeless and heartless and dead! This shouldn't hurt! Why does it hurt!"

"Feliciano, who killed me?" He tried again.

"_Fratello!"_ Feliciano screamed. _"Fratello_ took my hand and shoved the knife in your back! _Fratello_ did it! _Fratello_! I hate _Fratello_! I hate him! I love you! I love you, Ludwig. I always did." He broke down into a mass of sobs. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He rocked back and forth, repeating it over and over.

Oh Gott, Ludwig thought, this boy was so damaged. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before. The heartlessness was all an act. The coldness was a mask that covered to the broken and fragile emotional state on the inside. He'd been betrayed by Romano and lost his lover, and it had destroyed him. Ludwig had spent his entire time here with everyone assuring him that Feliciano was a heartless monster.

And they'd all been wrong.

He'd been broken, and in tatters, Russia had put him back together as mock murderer, confused and hurt and hopeless. Ludwig was angry, angrier than he been in so many years. Possibly, angrier than he'd _ever_ been. Feliciano _had_ been the same kind man he knew back home. He _had_ been the carefree and joyful and laidback Northern Italy that Ludwig knew and loved. And he'd had that persona smashed to pieces by his own brother, the shards of it rubbed back into his bloody hands with every dark emotion that Russia implanted him with. He'd been completed fooled and manipulated.

Feliciano started wailing, his finger nails digging into his scalp. A dribble of blood ran down his face. He was completely breaking down, his mind coming apart at the seams. So Ludwig did the only thing he could think of.

He hugged the man he loved.

* * *

**Dro:** D'aw! Germany! I knew you had a soft side somewhere! Hmph! Matt, you know better than to make out with the enemy...not that I mind. And Alfred, stop threatening to kill people! By the way, where's the other Alfred?

**Next Chapter:** Matthew and Francis confront each other, and we finally find out just what Ivan promised the Frenchman all that time ago. Meanwhile, alter-Alfred comes up with an elaborate plan to sneak up on Russia. Let's just say it involves vents. Lastly, Gilbert and Antonio come back into the picture as they both go searching for Ludwig...and Lovino comes too...sort of.


	19. A Sangria Confrontation

**Dro: **So, here's today chapter. For some reason, it contains a gratuitous amount of swearing. -shrug- Enjoy, peoples! **And don't forget to drop me a review!**

**Chapter Summary:** Francis and Matthew confront each other about their relationships to Ivan, ending in a hateful display that amuses Ivan and sickens Francis. Meanwhile, alter-Al definitively proves that his spur of the moment ideas have _not_ gotten any better over the years. And finally, we find out how the showdown with Romano ended as Antonio and Gilbert go searching for Ludwig.

**Warnings:** Language, Mentions of Violence

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Francis almost dropped Arthur. Almost. He caught the unconscious man at the last second, forcing himself to dip quickly toward the floor so as to regain his hold around Arthur's body. When he righted himself, another wave of shock and disbelief crashed into him, and while he still managed to keep his grip on Arthur, he felt even more stunned than the first time around. His eyes were glued to a dark red sofa, where Matthew was sitting with his hands bound behind his back. His clothing was rumpled, his hair unkempt, and Francis was more than keen enough to spot the flush of his cheeks and lips. He felt sick. Very, very sick.

"Ivan, what have you done to _mon petit Mathieu_?" He tried to keep his voice low and steady, attempting to vainly hide his fear of Russia.

Ivan flicked his eyes briefly to the young man on the couch before cracking a smile. "Nothing he did not want, I assure you."

"You…" He growled. Matthew was supposed to have been off limits. He was supposed to have been in North America, not here in Ivan's clutches. He had lost it on his boy when he'd first seen Mathieu at the hospital. He'd tried desperately to dissuade Arthur from calling Mathieu to Europe, and he'd done his best to make sure Mathieu thought he could best serve the resistance from his homeland. He was never supposed to come here, never supposed to get this close to Ivan.

"Now, now, Francis, don't be too upset." Ivan just smiled politely. "Matvey is fair game while in my home, da? Do not worry though. I shall not harm him."

"Are you sure I can take your word on that?"

"Of course! Why would I harm my own lover?"

Francis was suddenly sure that God was playing a cruel, cruel joke no him. He silently pleaded for Mathieu to indicate something contrary to what Ivan had said, but the boy wouldn't look him in the eye. _Mon Dieu…_His stomach churned. "Mathieu…how…how did this even…?"

"You can ask me, Francis. I'm not going to lie to you."

He dared to meet Ivan's deceptively playful eyes. "Do explain." His voice had grown dark.

Ivan chuckled. "Trust me when I say this is not a recent development. Matvey and I are in the middle of renewing quite an old relationship, da Matvey?"

Matthew looked up, his lip quivering. He bit the soft skin, obviously unsure of what to say. "I…well…"

"No need to be nervous. Arthur is unconscious, and Francis will not see you negatively. I mean, he's been my spy the whole time. How could he possibly find fault in you, hmm?"

Matthew's eyes were on him in a second, angry and hurt. "The whole time? You've been a double agent this whole time? Hiding right under Arthur's nose and waiting to strike?" Matthew looked exasperated and defeated. Francis suddenly had the urge to kill himself where he stood. "How could you do this to us?"

"Me? Ivan's claiming you as his lover, and you're asking me how _I_ could betray everyone? Mathieu—"

"_Ta gueule! __Fils de pute!"_ Matthew screamed at him.

Francis froze, biting his tongue. Ivan laughed loudly. "Oh my. That sounded nasty."

Francis glared at him. "Is Mathieu really your lover or are you just fucking with me, Ivan?"

Ivan grinned mischievous. "He was my lover for many years, and I hope for him to be again. But honestly, that's none of your business, is it Francis? So how about you tie up your little lovebird there and take a seat. You've done your job well enough, I suppose." He waved his hand, and the guards at the door shut it and dispersed.

Francis stood still, arguing with himself. He had already betrayed _Angleterre_, and now his Mathieu was at risk of becoming Ivan's whore. _Dieu,_ he'd really messed up. Finally, his muscles started functioning again, and he followed Ivan's orders and bound Arthur, setting him down gently in the corner of the room. Then he sat down next to Mathieu, who was seething. Light plum eyes full of venom were beaming at him, and Francis felt incredibly uncomfortable.

"How could you do this to us?"

"How could you?" He countered.

Mathieu grew silent for a moment, then he scoffed. "I was captured, Francis. That was it. Just because Ivan is claiming me as his lover again doesn't make me a traitor."

Francis eyed his beloved Mathieu with distrust. "So he is lying? You have not been his lover in the past?"

"That's not relevant."

"How so?"

"Because I was with him long before he ever started this war. Long before this war was even an idea. I'm not a traitor for _that_."

"How long were you with him?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Mathieu bared his teethe.

Francis didn't flinch. "How long?"

Mathieu turned his head away. "Sixteen years."

"Damn it, Mathieu." There was no way on Earth Ivan would ever consider leaving Mathieu alone after that kind of relationship. "You fool. You should have known better."

He could've sworn he heard "I know," but it was drowned out by the sound of Ivan laughing. The man cackled hysterically, wiping his eyes as they watered. "Oh, I knew this would happen eventually, but I never knew it would unfold like this! This is hilarious!"

Both of them went silent, waiting nervously for Ivan to tell them one of their comrades had died. Francis flicked his eyes over to Arthur's unconscious form, Mathieu's following him. _As long as my _Angleterre_ is okay._ Mathieu cleared his throat. "What's going on, Ivan?"

Ivan waved his question off. "I'll let you watch the video later. After this is all over, Matvey, we can sit down and enjoy our victory together and watch a rerun of how I defeated the resistance. It will be fun, da? You can come too, Francis!"

Mathieu frowned, obviously disturbed. Franics was even more so. "Do not forget your promise to me, Ivan." Mathieu perked up, glaring daggers at him.

Ivan shook his head. "I have not. You will have everything I promised as soon as rid myself of these nuisances. This is all playing out so nicely!"

"What kind of deal did you cut with him, Francis?" Mathieu sneered.

Francis sighed. "I would rather not talk about it. It's not a memory I like to dwell on."

"Well, I would love to hear all about it." Mathieu looked ready to rip his throat open.

"I will tell you all about it later, Matvey. Leave poor Francis alone now. He looks like he's about to be sick." Ivan giggled.

Sick didn't even begin to cover it. The situation was pressing down on Francis' shoulders heavier than ever before. His beloved Mathieu was in Ivan's clutches. Mathieu had been the only factor he couldn't control. Ivan had been too stubborn to give him any sort of promise regarding Mathieu, and now he understood why. Ivan wanted Mathieu for himself. If only he'd known that ahead of time. He would've somehow assured that Mathieu never left North America. Then…then after he left Russia for good he could've met up with Mathieu and hidden away somewhere that Ivan could not get them.

He heard Mathieu mutter "Like he should be."

Ivan caught it too. "Don't be so mean, Matvey! He is just doing his job, da? Poor Francis was in a rough situation, and he took the best option out of it. How can you blame him for that?"

"Easily." Mathieu spat back.

Ivan shrugged and went back to his computer screen. Francis looked it over. He couldn't clearly see the videos from this angle, but he could tell they were surveillance cameras. Ivan was just playing with them now, manipulating their movements like a puppeteer. They never should have come here in the first place. Even if he hadn't told Ivan about Arthur's plan, nothing would have changed. This entire situation would have played out exactly the same way. And ended the same way too, Francis knew. This was going to end…terribly wasn't even close to strong enough. Tragically? Devastatingly? No, still not enough.

His eyes honed in on something else. Was that a…countdown? Yes. It was steadily decreasing from an hour and thirty-five minutes. What was it for? Francis wanted to know. His best guess was the time Ivan believed it would take him to finish his "game." Had he really plotted it out that far? The point where he could actually time the damn thing? Francis would not have put it past him.

"I hate you, you know." Mathieu suddenly said.

Francis heart cracked. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Mathieu. Perhaps one day I can make you understand."

"Oh, I'm sure I understand already. Let me guess, he captured you and made you a deal. I'm going to guess it had something to do with keeping Arthur alive and letting him escape after Ivan crushes the resistance, seeing as Ivan hasn't killed him yet. Am I right?"

Francis looked away.

"I see. So you thought betraying Arthur to save his life was better than dying fighting for your cause? _Mon Dieu,_ you're pathetic."

Francis snapped. "At least I am not my enemy's _whore_."

Mathieu gaped. "_Nique ta mere_! I hope you burn in hell!" Matthew leaned close to him, challenging. "You want me to be a whore, _papa?_" He sneered. "Fine, have it your way." He whispered under his breath.

Francis watched in horror as Matthew stood up and strode over to Ivan. He whispered something into the amused man's ear, and Ivan smiled, patting his leg. _Oh no, don't you do it, Mathieu!_ But he was in no position to stop his boy, his _son_, from sliding into Ivan's lap. Ivan untied the boy's hands, and they immediately wove themselves around Ivan's neck. Matthew sealed his lips to Ivan's, which eagerly kissed him back. Francis gagged. His son was tongue kissing the world's worst enemy! Damn it! He should've been able to stop this! He shouldn't have…damn it! He felt tears prickling his eyes.

Ivan's hand cupped Mathieu's cheek, stroking it gently as he pulled them apart. "We should save this for later, Matvey." He whispered into Mathieu's ear. "This will be our reward for victory, da?" Ivan's lips were pressed against Mathieu's ears, but his eyes were on Francis. And the message in those malevolent violet irises were perfectly clear.

'I win.'

* * *

The blade caught the tip of his glove and almost sheered half his finger off. He leapt back, only to have to doge another blade that came out of nowhere. Then another dropped from the ceiling. There were spikes too. And electrified panels. _Fuck you, Russia. Fuck you!_ When he'd found the vent system, he'd thought at worst, they'd be monitored with cameras. But oh no! Russia had booby-trapped the motherfuckers! Oh, when he got out of this, he was going to beat the shit out of that man. He carefully maneuvered himself over an electrified panel. Thankfully, he'd actually figured out how to test them without getting electrocuted.

He made it over safely. _Phew._ Then the floor dropped out under him. He grabbed the panel in front of him, barely holding on as his legs dangled in the air. He dared to look down. A mess of electrified barbed wire buzzed dangerously beneath him. If he fell, he would get sliced and fried at the same time. _Oh fuck. Russia, I hate you so much._ He pulled himself up. _That's it. Fuck the vents. I'm going through the door._

He looked around and realized something.

He was lost.

_Oh man!_

He could _hear_ Ivan laughing at him.

It took him twenty minutes to find an exit. He kicked the vent cover off and slid out into what appeared to be a storage closet. Dropping to the floor, he breathed a sigh of relief. _Boy, I'm a real genius, aren't I? _Now he was tired as hell and beat up beyond repair. How the hell was he going to kick Russia's ass now? A sound caught his attention. What was that? He looked around, not seeing anything. The hissing sound got louder, and Alfred realized he was starting to feel faint.

Shit. Gas.

He bounded for the door, finding it was locked. He battered himself against it, using his immense strength to break the hinges clear off the door. Tumbling in the hallway, he gulped in clean air, his vision swimming. A figure appeared over him, and he shot out a fist blindly. The enemy caught it.

"Dude, calm down! It's me!"

Who? He squinted. Of, it was his other self. Wait, what was his other self doing here? "Where's Matt?" He rasped.

The masked man didn't say anything.

Alfred sat up, rigid. "What happened?"

His other self inhaled sharply. "I think Ivan…got him."

Alfred felt his world collapse around him.

* * *

"Dude, if he wakes up and kills me, I'm going to haunt you." Gilbert grumbled.

"He's not going to kill you, Gil."

"He almost slit my throat a few minutes ago!" Gilbert shifted the weight of the unconscious Romano on his back. "I just know he's going to wake up and kill me. And second now."

Antonio chuckled. "Are you doubting the force of my fist, Gilbert?" He held it up. "I think you should stop complaining before I use it on you."

Gilbert huffed. He couldn't believe this idiot. What the hell made Antonio think it was a good idea to knock out Romano and take him with them? He was still an enemy, Gott damn it! His little breakdown from before was probably just a one time thing. He would probably wake up any moment and slip right back into assassin mode, and then Gilbert would have to deal with the consequences. But he hadn't been able to refuse Antonio. That stupid pouting face of his. _Fuck you, Antonio. Just fuck you._

They turned a corner, both peering down it for any sign of West or Italy. Gilbert had heard the sounds of a gunfire a few minutes prior, and he was scared something had happened to his _bruder_. He'd already lost in his brother once. He picked up his pace, Antonio quickly catching up to him. Romano bobbed up and down on his back, his dead weight slowing Gilbert down, frustrating him. Up ahead, he spotted something staining the floor, and his heart seized up. Blood.

"Antonio…"

"I see it." His voice was grave. "You want to hang back?"

"No."

They both whipped around the corner simultaneously, and they both pulled to an abrupt stop at the same time. The scene in front of them was nearly as morbid as it was endearing. West had his arms wrapped around Feliciano, whose leg was profusely bleeding from a gunshot wound. Feliciano's arms gripped Ludwig's back, carefully to avoid the _knife_ sticking out of his shoulder. Gilbert swallowed. _What the hell is this?_

"West?" He whispered.

His brother craned his neck to look back at him, wincing as it pulled at the blade in his shoulder. "_Bruder._"

Feliciano choked out a loud sob, and suddenly, Gilbert lost any remaining shred of desire to kill either Italy. _Gott…Gott, this is so messed up. Ivan, you fucker…why can't you see that you've already destroyed the world?_

_

* * *

_

**Dro:** Actually Francis, you know...in a way, you kinda _are_ Ivan's whore.

**Next Chapter:** Antonio tries his best to convince the Italy brothers to run away. Meanwhile, Arthur wakes up in Ivan's office, horrified and hurt by Francis' betrayal. Ivan, on the other hand, is still highly amused by all of this, and he watches as Alfred and the _mystery_ person head toward his office.


	20. A Sienna Situation

**Dro:** Wooh, churned out another one! Well, have at it! We're almost at the climax! Yay! Enjoy~! **And don't forget to drop Dro a review, yeah?** Oh, by the way, I still haven't figured out my new writing schedule since I've finished **Solemnity** yet. I may do every other day, but I'm also planning a one shot, so...we'll see. Just stay tuned!

**Chapter Summary:** Gilbert, Antonio, and Ludwig try to figure out what to do with the Italy brothers. Meanwhile, Matthew falls further into Ivan's web. Finally, Arthur wakes up to his worst nightmare.

**Warnings:** Language, Sexual Suggestions

**Disclaimer:** No. Just no. Seriously no. You know what I mean, right? No, I do not own APH. Seriously.

* * *

"One."

"Will you just do it already?"

"Shut up, West. This is a delicate procedure."

"You're ripping a knife out of my back!"

"Exactly. So let me be gentle."

Ludwig grumbled.

"Good. Now. One. Two." He tore the blade out with one quick pull.

Ludwig cried out. "Bastard!"

"What? I never said I was going to count to three."

"Fucker." Ludwig groaned breathily. His back was burning. He leaned forward until his face was pressed into the carpet, sucking in haggard deep breaths. He clenched his eyes shut, waiting for the pain to dissipate.

"You okay, West? You still with us?" Gilbert tossed the bloody knife aside and knelt next to his younger brother, inspecting the bleeding wound. "Is it okay for me to patch it up now?"

"Just get it over with." Ludwig murmured through grinding teeth.

Gilbert nodded to Antonio, who handed him disinfectant and bandages. As he unscrewed the cap on the bottle, he eyed the Italy brothers. Feliciano's leg had been patched up by Lovino, who was now awake but still seemed nearly asleep. Both of them did, actually. No, sleep really wasn't the right word. The pair sat against the wall, Lovino's arms wrapped around his knees, Feliciano's legs flat, his hands twiddling thumbs in his lap. Neither would make eye contact. Both stared off into space, as if they were in another time and place. No, not asleep. Dead.

As wary as he still was of them, Gilbert had to concede them a few things. Feliciano had directed them to a bathroom with medical supplies. Neither had pulled an alarm yet. They weren't actively trying to kill anyone. Good signs, usually. But the way they looked, so utterly lost and defeated…a small part of Gilbert still wished they were attacking. At least then, he could live with the delusion that the brothers were fighting for something they believed in. He could turn his head the other way and say they were just traitors. He wouldn't have to look at them like the victims they truly were. But that illusion was wholly broken now.

He soaked a pad in the disinfectant and placed it over his brother's wound, trying to drown out the sound of West's agonized groans, muffled as the younger man forced his face against the carpet. "It's almost over West." After a few more seconds, he pulled the pad away and carefully constructed a bandage from the gauze, taping it over the wound. "There."

Ludwig let out a relieved sigh. "Just give me a minute."

Gilbert nodded and addressed Antonio. "What do we do from here? Wait for Arthur?"

Antonio, arms crossed, shook his head. "No. I'm getting a really strong feeling something has gone wrong. I think we should head up to the third floor."

A silver eyebrow shot up. "And what if everything is fine and we ruin the plan by going up there?"

"Gilbert, take a look for yourself. There's no one on this floor. There hasn't been anyone but us and the brothers since we took out that first round of guards. It's a ruse. Russia is plotting something. We're supposed to be stuck on this floor, searching for something that isn't there while he executes his plan on Arthur and the others. I can _feel_ it. Something isn't right here. They're in danger right now. We all are."

"And what if we go up there and run straight into a trap?"

"What if we stay here while Russia murders Arthur and the others and then comes after us?"

Gilbert considered their options. Antonio was definitely on to something. Why would the Italy brothers be Ivan's only protection? It didn't make sense. _No one_ else was on this floor. Somehow, Russia had to have known that they would strategize this way, splitting up floor by floor. He _knew_ that they would have been _staying _on this floor. And he'd left no other guards to waste because Gilbert, Antonio, and Ludwig had been ordered to stay on this floor. They were meant to think that they'd done a good job at eliminating the initial threat and were to stay posted to wait for the "inevitable" arrival of more guards in order to stop Arthur and the others from being confronted by them. But if there were no other guards? What if they'd been tricked? Gilbert could feel himself start sweating. Ivan _knew_. He was sure of it. Somehow—some way—Ivan knew their exact plan.

"Traitor."

"What?" Antonio replied.

"There's a traitor among us. Somewhere. I just know it. Someone high enough up to know our plan ratted us out."

"Whoa, Gilbert, I wouldn't go that far."

"I would." Ludwig muttered, sitting up at last. "It makes sense, doesn't it? The way he had Feliciano and Lovino putting up a good enough fight to prolong our sense of danger on this floor for as long as possible. Had both of them not…cracked…" he winced, eying the brothers' depressive state, "then where would we be? Still fighting? Russia was _stalling_ us. He wanted us to stay here. Had it just been the guards, we would've gotten suspicious of this much earlier. He _knew_ exactly what were planning from the beginning and countered our every move."

Antonio looked pale. "_Dios._ You're right. We…we need to get up to the next floor. Right now."

"What about them?" Gilbert nodded toward the silent brothers.

"Leave."

Lovino's eyes locked onto Antonio, clarity immediately returning to their green irises. "What did you say?" His voice was low.

"Leave here. Get out. Run away. Leave Russia forever, and go hide somewhere." Antonio's tone was final, but Lovino still challenged him.

"And if Ivan wins, he will hunt us down and slaughter us if we do that."

"He won't win."

"Right, because you're _so_ close to winning right now. Face it, he's outsmarted you. The likelihood of you winning now is pretty much nil. If we run, he will find us. It doesn't matter where we go."

Gilbert marched up to him and backhanded him across the temple. "Shut up! And stop talking like that. Russia is _not_ going to beat us here. You got that, kid? You two are lucky _I_ haven't killed you after the shit you've pulled so far. We're showing you mercy here. Leave and never come back. I don't care where you go. Just get the fuck out of here."

Antonio swallowed thickly. "You didn't have to be so cruel."

Gilbert frowned, watching the shock on Lovino's pace slowly dissipate back into that hard, dead stare. "Just get of here. _Please_." He whispered.

Amazingly, Lovino rose on shaky legs and nodded. "Fine. We'll go." He offered his hand to Feliciano, who finally dared to raise his head. He took his brother's hand and let the older Italy pull him to his feet. "Let's go, _fratello_. Perhaps we can enjoy a vacation before Ivan comes to kill us." He spat in Gilbert's direction.

Antonio tried to calm him down. "Look, Lovi. We're just looking out for you, okay? We still care about you. We never stopped. We were angry and upset, but we don't hate you. We just want Russia out of the picture. For _obvious_ reasons. So please, you've been hurt enough already. Just leave and lay low for a while."

"And what if you lose?" Feliciano's voice shocked them, small and soft as it was.

Ludwig had the urge to embrace the man again. "We will not. And that is final."

Feliciano's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything else. Without another word, Lovino turned and walked off, tugging his brother behind him by the hand. When they finally disappeared around the corner, the three of them stood silent for several moments. Antonio was the first to break it.

"What do you think will happen to them?"

"If we lose or if we win?" Gilbert countered.

"Both."

"Well, that's easy." Red eyes met green. "They die or they live." Gilbert picked up his rifle and headed for the hallway that led to the stairs, Ludwig shaking his head as he followed the elder German.

Antonio was left behind, eyes darting back and forth between the direction the Italy brothers had taken and the path that would lead them to direct confrontation with Russia. "But I wonder," he mumbled, "which one leads to which outcome."

* * *

His shirt slipped off his shoulders, only to be replaced by a brand new one. It was crisp and starched and pristine white. Large, skilled hands quickly did the buttons, smoothing the shirt immediately afterwards. A coat followed the shirt, black and red with dashes of gold scattered about. The strong hands pull this on too, and repeated the same process as before. Then, the owner of the hands leaned over him, placing two fingers on his chin and pushing it left to meet violet eyes. Lips descended to his own, dangerous and thrilling and skilled. He kissed back with fervor, not hesitating to open his mouth to a hot, probing tongue.

When the owner pulled away, he smiled. "You look amazing in that, Matvey."

Matthew said nothing, only pulled Ivan down into another, possessive kiss. "I could say the same about you."

Ivan chuckled and hooked an arm around Matthew's waist, pulling the smaller man closer. Flushed lips pressed softly against Matthew's ear. "I am glad to have you back with me, Matvey. I was worried I had lost you forever at one point."

"I'm sorry, Ivan." Matthew pressed his face against Ivan's exposed neck. "I…don't know what I thinking. I guess…I guess I though Francis and Alfred and Arthur…I though they…" He bit back a sob.

"You thought they loved you, Matvey?" His fingers ran through Matthew's hair. "I'm sorry you were disappointed by your faith in your family. Despite the fact that I am sad you left me, even now I would not wish pain on you. Especially such intimate pain."

"It's all right, Ivan. I understand my mistakes now." He sighed.

"That is good to hear. Do not worry yourself. Later tonight we will be celebrating a great victor, da?"

"Mhmm, but…"

"But what?"

"What will you do with Arthur? I'm curious as to what exactly you promised Francis."

Ivan shrugged. "I had promised I would let England go unharmed once I defeated the resistance. And I will keep my word. _After_ I destroy the resistance army and crush any chance of further insurrection, of course."

"Francis is a fool then."

Ivan's chest rumbled as he laughed. "Has he not always been?"

"No, he has. I just thought he might've actually gained some sense since this war started. Apparently, he never changes."

"Indeed." Ivan's fingers drew circles on his back. "Shall we go watch your brother's approach?"

He nodded. "I have a few things I'd like to tell him as well. If you don't mind." Matthew's deep frown made Ivan smile.

He glanced discreetly at the clock on the wall and nodded. "No worries. I am sure we will have enough time for that."

"Good." He placed another kiss on Ivan's lips, inciting the taller man to deepen it. They stumbled back against the door, Matthew's back slamming into it with a loud thump. He immediately wrapped his legs around Ivan's waist, pulling their bodies together. He opened his mouth to Ivan's tongue again, groaning at the harshness of the other man's kiss.

Deep. He was in deep. Too deep. _This has gone too far. I never meant for this…damn it! What am I supposed to do when Arthur wakes up? If he sees me like this…fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I was mad before…and then this seemed like a workable idea. Gain Ivan's trust. Betray him later. But…_Mon Dieu,_ I've taken this too far. How the hell do I get myself out of this?_

_

* * *

_

A loud thump pierced his calm darkness. He wanted to stay here, blissfully unaware of the world around him. He was peaceful, and it was quiet. And this was the best he'd felt in ages. But it was too late. The thump had set off a chain reaction. His body was waking up now, sensation rapidly returning to him. For some reason, pain always traveled the fastest. His head throbbed with a dull ache. His hearing came next. A low…moan?...was audible in the distance. Harsh breathing. Anger? No, more like rage.

Finally, his eyelids fluttered open, revealing a large office decked out in red and gold. Red. Gold. Russia. Clarity struck him with lethal force, and he gasped, pulling at his bindings. They were too tight. Far too tight. His wrists and ankles were aching from the position they'd been bound in. What the hell had happened? How had he gotten captured? Fuck! He looked frantically around the room, his eyes landing on the figure on the red sofa.

"Francis?" He croaked out through his dry throat.

Francis jumped, his blue eyes landing on Arthur's bound form. "Oh, you're awake."

"What the bloody hell is…?" He trailed off, the memory slowly bleeding back into his brain. Francis had…pistol whipped him. Realization came in the form of churning nausea. "You…you betrayed me?" He whispered fearfully. _It can't be. Not you. Anyone but you!_

Francis said nothing.

"Oh God. Oh my God. All this time. All this time…how Russia seemed to know our every move. How he…how he found our base. How he so thoroughly caught us here…it was all you, wasn't it?"

Francis gave the slightest nod.

"You treacherous fucker! How dare you betray us like this! You…God, how _could_ you, Francis?"

"It was for you, _Angleterre."_

"What? How the bloody hell does that even make sense? Think about that Francis."

"I have. And I still think the same way. Ivan was bound to win this eventually, and you know it."

"So what then, you join the other side?"

"If that is what it takes to keep you alive, then yes."

"What? Ivan will kill me!"

"He will not."

"What, did you make some kind of deal with him?"

Francis didn't answer.

"_Oh_, you little imbecile! Are you really foolish enough to think that Ivan will keep his word?"

Francis refused to speak.

"Idiot! You complete idiot!" Arthur's voice cracked. He was trying desperately to hold back his tears. Francis! How could Francis have…! He'd known Francis forever. The man was supposed to be…how could he have ever dared to betray them? He hung his head, his eyes burning, when another thump startled him. "What was that?"

Francis snorted, his lips pulled down in a dark, venomous frown. "Probably Ivan fucking Matthew into the wall."

"_What?"_ Arthur's eyed bugged, his mouth hanging open. "And you're sitting here letting your _son_ get _raped_?" Oh God! Matthew was…

"I never said he was being raped, Arthur."

"What? What the hell are you saying then? Matthew would never…"

Francis' eyes were low and angry now, looking down on him with contempt. But the contempt was not for him. "That is what I thought as well, but apparently our little Matthew has quite the _history_ with Ivan."

Arthur could feel his heart being slowly ripped from his chest. First Francis…and now…Matthew? Matthew was a traitor? His loving, adorable boy was a traitor? That couldn't be true! It just couldn't be! He lost himself in despair, tears staining his cheeks as they burned tracks down his skin. How could his world be falling apart like this? Hours ago, he'd thought he had victory waiting for him here, and now…now he was finding out that…who was next? Who else had betrayed him? _Alfred?_ He bit back a sob.

Then the door nearest to him open, revealing another room behind it. Ivan emerged, lips red, a satisfied smirk on his face as his eyes met Arthur's. "Ah, I see you are awake, my friend. Good, you will not miss my grand finale then!"

Arthur wanted to rip his head off, but his words died on his lips when he watched the second man emerge from the room. Matthew's hair was mussed, his cheeks and lips blushed with red. Arthur's eyes were drawn to the prominent and quickly forming mark on Matthew's neck. He felt sick. He hung his head low, gulping in air to calm his stomach.

"Arthur…" He heard Matthew mumbled.

He snapped his head back up, sending as much hatred and fury as he possibly could through his eyes. Matthew recoiled, looking hurt. Then he turned around and followed Ivan to his desk, hanging his arms around Ivan's neck from behind as the man sat in his chair, watching a computer screen.

"Ah, you see Matvey? I told you you're remaining companions would meet up, da? I would really like to know who my mystery person is, _but," _he cut Matthew off, "I feel like it will be more fun if I don't know." He eyed the other screens, locating the German brothers and Spain. "Ah, I need to move some pieces." He adjusted several pieces on is chess board. "There. We are getting so close to the grand finale now!" He laughed, his eyes quickly flicking from Francis to Arthur to the count down, now at fifty-five minutes. "This is going to be so exciting, da?"

* * *

**Dro:** I just love how Ivan is acting in this.

**Next Chapter:** Both Alfreds meet up and decide to storm Russia's office, having no other alternative. Meanwhile, Russia escorts all his "guests" to the roof, leaving Arthur suspicious of his motives, and Matthew desperately tries to somehow silently communicate to Arthur that he hasn't betrayed them.


	21. A Sinopia Showdown

**Dro: **So, I hope you guys liked **A Call to Arms**. I had a lot of people ask me for a _sequel_ to** The Call of Duty**, but that just wasn't something I wanted to write. A _prequel_ on the other hand...Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. And I hope you enjoy this chapter. **And don't forget to drop Dro a review!**

**Chapter Summary:** Alfred and Alfred decide to storm Ivan's office. It doesn't go so well. Meanwhile, Matthew, Arthur, and Francis are led to the roof by Ivan, where they discover something horrifying.

**Warnings:** Violence, Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

"Storm Ivan's office?"

The man nodded.

"Really?"

The man nodded again.

"Is that honestly the best you have?"

His double frowned. "You got any other bright ideas? I'd surely like to know them. Ivan has _captured_ Arthur and Matthew, and Francis is working for him. They're all probably in his office now, just waiting for us."

"Um…yeah, but that would mean Ivan is waiting for us too. He'll know we're coming. He'll be prepared."

His other self shrugged. "What's your point? He was obviously prepared for us to begin with, so how're we going to change the status quo if we do something else? The only way to save Matt and Arthur is to take on Ivan. And he knows that. Which was exactly why he took them in the first place. He wants a direct confrontation with me."

"So you're going to give it to him?" Alfred grimaced. His double had a point. Ivan had planned this out carefully. He'd taken Arthur and Matthew knowing Alfred would have no choice but to take on Ivan directly. Russia versus America. A fight to the death. That was the outcome Ivan had been going for. It must've been. What else could Ivan have possibly been planning? He obviously had them right where he wanted them.

"I don't really have a choice in the matter, do I?"

"Guess not." Alfred reached for his helmet.

"Whoa! Don't! Keep it on."

"Why?"

"Because I doubt Ivan knows who you are. He hasn't done anything to you yet, which means he still thinks you're a mystery. He won't directly attack anyone unless he knows what he's dealing with. You have an advantage here. Keep it."

Alfred nodded. "Got it." He sighed. "So, how do you want to go about this office ambush?"

"I was thinking we just kick down the door and go in guns blazing."

Alfred snorted. "My God, we really are the same person. That's exactly what I was thinking."

His double shrugged. "Well, we don't have many other options at the moment, so let's just do this." He adjusted his rifle and made to head down the hallway.

"Hey." Alfred said. "What about the others? You think they're okay?"

"Gilbert, Ludwig, and Antonio? They can take care of themselves. I'm sure they're fine."

Alfred wasn't entirely convinced, but he took a deep breath and started following his double anyway. They turned down several hallways, picking up their pace as they got closer. "Do you know which one it is?"

"Yes." He held up a finger and pointed to a large oak door near the end of the hallway. They sped up, boots stomping on the carpet.

A shot rang out. They ducked, both pairs of blue eye catching the hole being blown into the wall. Alfred turned his head just in time to see a hoard of guards pour out from the two rooms across from Ivan's office. Without a second of hesitation, he started gunning them down, diving out of the way as they returned his fire with a barrage of bullets. He rolled into an adjacent hallway, swinging his rifle around and letting off another round. Several guards went down. He frantically searched for his double, finding him taking cover behind a measly little wooden table with a large fish tank on top. _Shit. I've got to cover him so he can run._

He leaned around the corner and fired off another six shots, taking down four guards. But there still nearly ten more running straight at him, with more still pouring from the room. _Fuck_. More shots rang out from his side, and he spied his other self carefully picking off the guards one by one. Alfred saw the guard aim and yelled out for his double to duck. Too late. The bullet struck his other self in the shoulder, and the man went down, cringing. Alfred picked up his pace, shooting down another four soldiers. He flicked his eyes over to his double, who was gripping his shoulder and biting his lip. Alfred kept shooting, trying to keep them away from his other self. If those guards made it to him…

The shootout lasted several minutes, Alfred finding himself low on ammo. If he ran out this was all over. His double managed to fire off a shot every now and then, but with his arm like that, he could barely aim. Just when Alfred thought he might've taken enough of them to grab his double and escape, another five exited the second room, and he groaned in frustration. At this rate, they were going to lose. The five guards plus the four remaining charged him, and Alfred couldn't stop them in time. His other self desperately shot at them, only to get slammed in the temple with the butt of a rifle. Dazed, he stop shooting, and a couple of guards heaved him up and plunged his head into the fish tank.

Alfred heart stopped. _No!_ His double struggled get out of the water, but he was too dizzy from the head wound. Alfred watched in horror as his double choked on the water, losing air fast. The rest of the guards descended on Alfred, guns aimed. He snapped. He lunged from his cover and barreled into the crowd of guards, rifle forgotten. Shocked, they missed their opportunity to shoot him. He grabbed necks and snapped them. He smashed heads into the wooden floor and plastered walls, blood splattering on the already lush red. A bullet flew past his shoulder, and he craned his neck, keeping his hold on a lifeless guard whose skull he'd just smashed on the wall. One of the guards who'd been holding his double down had fired at him.

And the other Alfred wasn't moving. His face was still in the water, but the guards had let him go. He was just floating there, lifeless. Alfred saw red. He leaped at the man and tore the rifle away, smashing the front of his skull in with the gun and swinging it around like a club to catch the other man by the temple. They both went down like bricks. Alfred dropped the gun and rushed over to his double, pulling the man from the water. He lowered the man to the ground, immediately starting chest compression.

"Come on, breathe! Please!" He pleaded with the motionless body of his double. "Don't you fucking die on me! Arthur will kick my ass if I let you die." He continued for several minutes, trying to jumpstart his double's breathing. _Damn it, if I don't get him breathing, he's going to die!_ He moved to his double's side and finally tore his helmet off, tossing it to the side and tipping the man's head back to give him mouth to mouth. He gave the man several breaths, compressed his chest again, and repeated. He was running low on time now. He forced another breath into his double's mouth.

The man's eyes opened. Alfred pushed him over to the side as he choked up a gush of water from his lungs. Alfred let out a relieved sigh as his other self heaved in several shaky breaths. He patted his double's back. "You okay?"

The other Alfred turned back over, laying on his back. He still looked dazed, his temple still oozing blood. Tired, half-lidded eyes roved over Alfred's body. Alfred looked over himself and cringed. He was cover in blood splatters from the guards he'd massacred. Slowly, he turned around, wincing at the mutilated bodies of the guards. _What the hell is wrong with me? How could I let myself do that?_ God, he'd just been so angry. He turned back to face his double, opening his mouth to sincerely apologize for his brutality.

He froze as he found his other self inches from him, blue eyes glazed over. "Um, you all right?" The man nodded languidly, nearly causing himself to topple over, obviously dizzy. Alfred grabbed his arms to steady him. His double's eyes widened and a light blush crept over his face. "Um, Alfred…?"

He went rigid as his double leaned in and pressed their lips together, kissing him sloppily. Alfred didn't move, his face burning. The man's lips tugged at his own, and he pulled away with a smack, gently pulling Alfred's bottom lip with him, a trail of saliva following him away as their lips finally separated. Alfred sat completely motionless. His double gave a lazy smile before falling into his arms, burying his face in Alfred's neck and breathing in slowly. Alfred hesitantly hugged his other self back, gently rubbing the man's back with his hand.

"I seriously hope you don't remember that later."

"Nngnnnghn."

"Yeah. You too."

Alfred considered his options. _Okay, so my other self is completely and utterly messed up in the head right now. His brain is probably swollen to twice its normal size, and he can't even make coherent sentences. Wonderful. I now have an invalid take care of in addition to killing Ivan. Great. Just great. _Now, what was he going to do? He obviously couldn't just drop his other self off at a hospital, but how could he take on Ivan carrying a confused and useless double? And if the man got worse, then what? He couldn't get the man any medical care in this situation.

"Why me?"

"Nng Nngnh!"

"I know, buddy. I know." He sighed.

Suddenly, he caught the sound of several pairs of footsteps approaching. _Shit! Don't tell me…!_ He eyed his gun, which was laying on the floor out of his reach. If those were guards, he was so dead. He cringed as the boot stomps rounded the corner, only to see it was…

"Alfred?"

"Ludwig?" Alfred was sure he'd never felt so relieved in his life. "Oh, thank god!"

"Wait, you're parallel Al, right?" Gilbert looked at the incoherently mumbling Alfred in his arms.

"Uh, yeah. We had a few…problems."

The three of them stiffened as they looked around the hallway, drinking in the horrifying scene in front of them. "_Mein Gott_," Gilbert mumbled. "Did you do this?"

"Sorry…I got a little carried away when they were trying to kill Al here."

"Kill?" Antonio stiffened. "Is he all right?"

Alfred sighed. "Unfortunately not. He got caught in the temple with a rifle, and then they tried to drown him in the fucking fish tank. He's completely out of it. He probably has brain damage."

They all looked horrified. "Well shit!" Gilbert ran a hand through his hair. "What do we with him? We can't just leave him here, but like that…"

"Someone will have to carry him." Ludwig concluded. "He's a burden now, but we can't leave him here. We need to finish this and get him medical attention."

Antonio volunteered. With his double secured on the Spaniard's back, Alfred scrutinized the door to Ivan's office. "There's no way he didn't hear that. He's either in there armed and ready to take us all out as soon as we walk in the door, or…"

"Or he's gone somewhere else." Antonio mumbled.

"Stand back." Gilbert ordered as he walked up to the door, preparing to kick it down. "Just in case." He delivered a swift blow to the door, blowing the whole thing off its hinges. It fell backward into the darkened room. No one was inside. Gilbert immediately caught sight of the open door on the opposite side of the room, though which he could see a doorway leading to a set of stairs. "Damn. They went up."

"Up? This is the top floor." Antonio replied. "You mean they're on the roof?"

"Must be." Ludwig shrugged, then he went rigid. "Wasn't there a helicopter on the roof?"

All of them froze. Alfred was the first to speak.

"Oh shit."

* * *

Matthew walked just behind Ivan as they headed up the stairs. Moments ago, Ivan had apparently just randomly decided they would be going up the roof. If that wasn't strange enough, he'd given Matthew a stop watch with the remaining time from his countdown on it. Twenty two minutes. The watch was stuffed into his coat pocket, ticking away the seconds as they ascended the stairs. Arthur was breathing deeply behind him, huffing angrily, his hands still tied behind his back. Francis stood behind him, armed with a handgun.

Ivan pushed open the door, revealing the cool Russian night. A blast of cold air hit him, and Matthew shivered. He could feel Arthur's eyes burning into his back, and it made him feel uncomfortable. How could he tell Arthur what he was doing without Ivan figuring it out? But if he didn't manage to make Arthur understand his plan, then Arthur would be left thinking that he'd betrayed them, and he couldn't let that happen. He was jealous of Arthur. He always was. But he still loved the man dearly. He'd been so much to Matthew for most of his life. He couldn't let this go with Arthur suffering emotionally like this. He already had to deal with Francis' betrayal.

He dared to turn around and look at Arthur, whose furious green eyes met his. He wanted to try and communicate his message silently, but then he noticed Francis looking at him too, so he turned back around. He was still mad at that bastard. Ivan took them around the stairwell, revealing a landing pad with a helicopter. Matthew felt his heart rate speed up. There was no way they were leaving, right? Why would Ivan just up and leave in the middle of one of his games? Unless that was a part of the game.

The stopwatch suddenly felt incredibly heavy in his pocket.

"Ivan, where exactly are we going?" He dared to ask.

"I was thinking St. Petersburg. I have a nice house there." Ivan glanced back at him with a smile on his face.

Matthew heard Arthur suck in a breath, and he knew the man was terrified. "So, we're just leaving?"

Ivan nodded. "Yep. My little game is about over, so I believe it is about time for us to depart, da? I do not want to miss the fireworks."

"What fireworks?" Arthur snapped. "The bloody hell are you talking about?"

Ivan just kept smiling. "Oh, you'll see."

Matthew frowned nervously. He had a inkling of a idea of what Ivan was plotting, but he hoped to God he was wrong. "Ivan…um…are you planning on blowing up the mansion?"

Ivan chuckled. "Ah, you ruin my surprise, Matvey! But I supposed it would only be matter of time before you figured it out."

Matthew felt the temperature plummet around him, and he slipped his shaking hand into his pocket, retrieving the stopwatch. Ivan turned around, humming as he shuffled through his pockets for the keys. Matthew held the watch up, daring to steal a glance at it.

Sixteen minutes.

Cautiously, he tipped it to the side so Arthur could see it, and shot the man a terrified gaze. Fear shot through both Arthur and Francis' eyes. "Oh my God…" Arthur whispered. "Alfred."

They didn't know. No one but them knew that the house was rigged to explode. If they couldn't somehow let the others know, then…they would all die. Alfred. Both of them. _No, I can't let this happen. _He looked back at Ivan. Matthew had no weapons on him. The only one with a weapon other than Ivan was Francis, and Matthew already knew the man was resolved to keep his word to Ivan for Arthur's life. _Fuck!_

Matthew jumped at the sound of the helicopter roaring to life. What was he going to do? He started as Arthur tried to make a run for it, but Francis grabbed him and held him back, closing his eyes, pained, as Arthur started sobbing and screaming. "You let me go, you motherfucker! You let me go! I won't lose him again! I won't lose him again! You fucker! How dare you? Let me go!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, tears burning down his face. "Please, Francis." He whimpered.

Matthew watched as something broke in his papa's eyes, feeling the same thing breaking in him. This rouse had gone on long enough. He had to do something. Now. Ivan hopped out the helicopter.

"Time to go, everyone. Oh dear, Arthur, you look distraught. Don't be such a sore loser now. It was a great game we played, da?"

Arthur screamed incoherently at him, struggling in Francis' grasp. They were next to Matthew now. Matthew eyed the gun in Francis' hand. Francis was distracted. Ivan was laughing. He could grab it. He could take the shot before Ivan realized what he was doing. He hesitated, scared beyond belief, but he forced his body to move. He made to grab the gun, only for another shot to ring out. Ivan had moved at the last second, avoiding a shot that would've hit him dead center in the forehead. The bullet hole in the side of the helicopter attested to that.

Matthew slowly turned around, following the trajectory the bullet had taken. He was dreaming. He _had_ to be. Because there, standing in front of the stairwell, side by side, guns aimed at Ivan…

…were the Italy brothers.

* * *

**Dro:** Because the stakes just weren't high enough already.

**Next Chapter:** Ivan and the Italy brothers have an epic show down while Matthew finally breaks and tries take down Francis and free Arthur. Meanwhile, the others make it to the roof, only to watch a tragedy unfold in front of them.


	22. A Cobalt Climax I

**Dro:** So, I realized earlier today that it has now become impossible for me to _not_ write everyday, so without **Solemnity** to deal with, I ended up writing the prologue to **The Road Not Taken**. And then, because I had no work to do, I ended up writing this too. I was planning on posting this tomorrow, but, I mean, I already wrote and edited it, so...here it is. Enjoy it.

By the way, did you guys know I had an LJ? It's **nick_rolynd**, in case you were wondering. I more frequently update it with news than I do my FF profile, mostly because every time I push the "save" button on my profile, my formatting gets screwed to hell. So yeah, if you have questions for me or want more frequent news (I also repost my fics there if you prefer LJ to FF), head on over there.

So, anyway, this fic is now getting ridiculously close to the climax. It's next chapter. So, enjoy this one, and enjoy part two of this little fight scene. It will most assuredly be just as epic, if not more, than this part. And do **review**, sweethearts! I can't wait to know how you're feeling after this one.

**Chapter Summary**: The Italy brothers duke it out with Russia. Matthew finally makes a move, but it ends in disaster. Finally, Alfred and the others arrive on the arrive on the roof just in time to see a tragedy unfold.

**Warnings: **Violence

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, yeah, Dro no own. We know. We know.

* * *

Bullets flew by. Matthew ducked, dropping to the ground along with Arthur and Francis. Ivan took cover behind the thunderous helicopter, barely avoiding the brother's skillful shots. Then they were off, Italy storming around the back, Romano tearing around the front. Ivan leapt under the growling machine and rolled out the other side, the boys following him with no hesitation. They were going in the for the kill. But Ivan wasn't about to slip up now. He'd been the one to teach them all they knew, and he would not allow the students to surpass the master.

Matthew was frozen in the face of the fight. He, Arthur, and Francis watched, utterly confused, as Ivan's trained assassin's tried to take down their own leader. Matthew's eyes caught the dark red stain on the pants' leg of Italy's uniform, indicating he'd been shot in a previous confrontation. What had led up to this betrayal? The Italy brothers had been working with Ivan for such a long time, loyally killing all who Ivan proclaimed useless and annoying. So why now? Why had they decided to commit treason at such a crucial moment? He looked on in awe, his muscles completely stiff as if he'd been turned to stone, as if the brother's poised and deadly arms and legs were the snakes of Medusa.

The three fighters did not fight. They danced. Ivan, despite his size, was just as graceful as the brothers. He dropped out from under kicks, dodged punches with no more than carefully placed shifts to the left and right. He let knives slide by centimeters from his face without batting an eyelash. And the brothers were no less elegant. They moved in tandem, perfect reflections of one another. Where Italy feinted right, his brother feinted left. Where Romano flipped over Ivan's head, aiming for the face, Italy fell forward onto his knees, using his momentum to swing around Ivan's body and go for the back of the knees.

Neither opponent could touch another. Ever blow was a missed one. Every evasion was successful. They were so perfectly matched in speed and strength and skill, the Italy brothers as a unit and Ivan as a single fighter. No side could gain an inch of ground, and Matthew was oddly reminded of the World Wars, stuck deep in the trenches, fighting a week for ten feet, only to lose twenty in an hour. Ivan produced two blades, blocking the matching set of both brothers with reflective motions of his hands. He knew their movements well. He'd taught them to them, and he wasn't about to forget it. His scarf whipped around in the frigid Moscow air, the accent twisting and floating in the sky like a child's ribbon in the wind. Yet neither brother could seem to use it to their advantage. It evaded all four enemy hands, as if had a mind of its own.

Ivan ducked between the brothers' next assault and lunged forward, barely scraping by Italy's stomach. Matthew saw the boy falter, and he knew Ivan had breached their perfection. He'd broken their form. And thus, he'd broken through their defense. And thus…he'd won. He wanted to cry out, something, anything, but there was nothing he could possibly say to help the situation as Ivan used his speed to knock Romano off balance, sending the elder Italy heels over head and onto the ground face first. The younger brother, dismayed and angered, leapt forward to block Ivan's foot as it headed toward his vulnerable brother's head.

Matthew saw the flash of the gun, and the world slowed to a crawl. He watched for what seemed like hours as Italy caught sight of the glinting metal as Ivan slowly and steadily ripped from it from his coat pocket. Matthew's eyes flicked over to Francis and Arthur, who were both gradually adopting expressions of utter shock and fear. The Italy brothers were about to lose. Before Matthew could catch up to his body, his right hand jutted out and tore the handgun from Francis' fingers, Francis immediately snapping his gaze toward Matthew. But it was too late.

Matthew had the gun raised, aiming right at Ivan. The gun in Ivan's hand landed in sight of Italy's head, and Romano screamed for his brother's life. Ivan's fingers tightened on the trigger, Italy's eyes going wide at the realization that his life was milliseconds from ending.

Matthew fired.

Ivan faltered as the bullet lodged itself in his hip, and he turned as he stumbled, violet eyes, shocked and dismayed, staring back into Matthew's own. It was the third time in five minutes Ivan had been betrayed. A force suddenly slammed into Matthew, and he went down, quickly realizing Francis had tackled him.

"Stupid boy!" He tried to wrestle the gun away from Matthew. In Matthew's periphery, he watched as Ivan rose along with the Italy brothers, Romano flipping himself back up into a standing position and Italy leaping back to escape Ivan's grasp. He refused to let go of the gun, gripping it with all the strength he had. The dance of assassins continued a mere twenty feet away, Ivan now at a serious disadvantage with his mobility hindered by the wound in his hip. But he continued to fight valiantly, even harder than before, completely unwilling to give the brothers any ground.

"I am not stupid, _papa!_ At least I wasn't actually working for Ivan! At least I'm not actually a traitor. If you had any sense at all, _you_ would've been the one to shoot him! But you stood by! You could've ended this!"

"This is not the way it will end, _Mathieu! _Now give me the damned gun!"

"No!" They grappled for it wildly.

Matthew saw a blond blur leap forward and crash into Francis. Their fingers slipped.

The gun discharged.

Francis fell.

And time stopped.

Arthur's stunned face was the only thing Matthew saw for the next several seconds. Shocked green eyes, slowly filling with horror and denial and regret, bored into his own irises, burning their image into his mind. Then Matthew felt the warm liquid spreading onto his chest, soaking into his coat. And something broke. He screamed. Arthur rolled off of Francis, shaking.

"Francis. That…I didn't mean…"

Matthew's trembling hands wrapped around the back of his unmoving father. "Papa?" He whimpered. "Papa. Please." His vision started to blur. "Please."

"Matthew…" Arthur whispered.

Something exploded. Smoke and dust and ash filled the air, choking his lungs. He lost his hold on Francis as Arthur _kicked_ the man's body away, screaming at Matthew to get up and run. "We don't have time. Get up!" Numbly, he followed the man's direction, and he trailed Arthur as the man took cover behind the stairwell. He realized he was still holding the gun, and he tossed it away from him like it had bitten him. His eyes were blurred with tears, his throat choked with suppressed sobs.

"Matthew. It's okay."

"I killed him. I killed papa."

"Matthew, calm down lad. It's going to be okay. We will get through this." Arthur gasped for air, his heart beating rapidly. "Matthew. Just calm down. And untie me."

Matthew languidly slid his eyes over to Arthur, who was still tied up. He reached over and undid the tightly bound rope. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

"What? For what?" Arthur swallowed, coughing as debris got caught in his windpipe.

"I...I made you think…you thought I was really…I'm sorry I tricked you."

"It's okay, Matthew. I understand now. For a while, I'll admit, I was hurt, but when I saw you grab that gun, I realized…when did you get so amazingly braze and clever, Matthew? That was a brilliant ruse. And when we get out of here, I swear to God I'll give you anything you want. Just name it."

Matthew decided to ignore the obvious irony in that statement. He gulped in air, his hearing insanely acute in the high-adrenaline situation. He could hear Ivan and the Italy brothers still fighting, this time accompanied by the occasional gunshot. They were playing for keeps this time, pulling out all the stocks. The smoke was gradually clearing, and Matthew dared to peak around the corner of the stairwell. The three were still going at it, still precise, still deadly.

No one seemed to have gained any real ground, and Ivan had now lost his advantage. Matthew looked at the gun in front of him, and he tentatively reached to pick it up. Arthur stopped him, placing his hand over Matthew's own. "You've done enough, Matthew, and you've certainly lost enough. This was my fight to begin with. You've gone beyond the call of duty already. Let me finish this."

Matthew met his eyes, worn and on the verge of surrender. Arthur had been through it all now, and he was ready to finish this once and for all. Matthew let him take the gun. Sucking in a deep breath, he switched positions with Matthew and took careful aim at the distracted Ivan. This was it. This would be the final blow that ended the slow destruction of the world. He would make sure of it.

He aimed.

Ivan fired.

The bullet hit the gun, sending it flinging from Arthur's hands and landing out in the open several feet away.

"Arthur!" Matthew yelled.

Arthur recoiled his hands, quickly checking them over. "I'm fine." His eyes focused on Ivan, who sent him a chilling grin. "Bastard." He knew what game Ivan was playing now. The man wanted to draw him out in the open. He wanted a "fair" fight. "Stay back, Matthew."

"But..."

"Stay here." Arthur ordered, his eyes flashing with anger. "I've risked you enough already." He left the cover of the stairwell, exposing himself to the wrath of Ivan, hoping and praying the Italy brothers could keep the fiend occupied long enough for him to grab the gun again. He rolled to a stop, whipped the gun up, and aimed again, only to come eye to eye with the barrel of Ivan's gun aimed right at him. The brothers were too far away to catch him in time. _Shit._ Ivan's finger pulled the trigger.

* * *

Alfred hurried up the staircase, his helmet back in its place on his head. He could maintain some semblance of an advantage with his identity concealed. Ivan was bound to underestimate him if he didn't know he was America, especially with the incapacitated America that now rested on Antonio's shoulders. Seconds ago, a massive explosion had rocked the building. Realizing it had come from the roof, the group had picked up their pace, rushing up the stairs as quickly as possible. Only a few more to go.

Beyond the stairs, Alfred could see out into the night, a smoky veil of dust and ash corrupting the moonlight. Steadying his rifle, he hit the top stop step, ready for anything any everything. Or so he believed. His vision leveled with the roof just in time to see Ivan aim and empty his gun into something to the left. As Alfred and the others spilled out onto the rooftop, he followed the trajectory of Ivan's bullets, a thousand possibilities for its target running through his mind. But nothing could've prepared him for what he watched unfold.

Arthur was the target.

But he wasn't the victim.

At the last possible fraction of a second, a blond-headed blur dashed in front of Arthur, securing Arthur in a harsh embrace. A fragile, mortal shield. All five bullets embedded themselves into his back, and he lost his ability to stand, falling into Arthur's grasp.

Matthew.

"Matt!" He screamed into the open air as he watched his brother's limp form fall into Arthur's arms. Arthur's wide eyes didn't seem to register what had just happened, and he sank to the ground with his mortally injured savior.

Ivan didn't seem to understand what had happened either. He dodged two blows from the Italy brothers as if on automatic, his eyes never leaving the sight of the bleeding and broken Matthew. Something seemed to crack within his carefully constructed façade of devious playfulness, and he lost it. Growling in rage, he swung his fist around and slammed it dead center into Romano's chest, sending the boy sprawling over ten feet through the air and bouncing off the concrete of the roof until he rolled to a bloody, skinned up stop, heaving for air as his shattered ribs tore at his lungs.

Stunned at Ivan's sudden rage, Italy faltered, and Ivan kicked him, sending him stumbling backward. Romano rolled over just in time to see his brother teetering on the edge of the roof. He managed to steady himself, and Romano sighed in relief, only to have it cut short as Ivan withdrew another gun from within his coat and aimed it straight at Feliciano.

"Ivan!" Alfred yelled at him, charging, trying desperately to stop what he knew was seconds away from happening. But he was too slow. Ivan was too far away. A shot from his rifle wouldn't topple the massive Russian, and he'd never aim at a vital place in time. He could only use his brute strength to take the man down. But he no time. If only he'd had a split second more. If only he'd been a split second faster. If only he'd forced his muscles into propelling him that much farther. But he hadn't been able to.

So all he could do was run as Ivan pulled the trigger. All he could do was hear when Romano screamed in terror. All he could do was be just as stagnant and useless as the rest of the people on the roof.

All he could do was watch as that one damned single bullet hit Feliciano in the chest.

The impact seemed to unfold in a matter of years. Italy's face contorted into one of disbelief and shock, the pain not even having enough time to register as the immense panic of falling backwards caught up to him. But it was too late. He was too far over, too far fallen to correct himself. His feet slipped out from underneath him as the back of his knees his the low border of the roof, and a stifled cry of fear, drowned out by the whirring helicopter blades, was the only audible sound as his body disappeared from view.

Romano screamed again. Loud. Piercing. Despondent. Completely and utterly heart-shattering. "No!" The shrill cry ripped Alfred's heart from his chest, and he propelled himself forward as hard as he could, fist raised to meet Ivan's face as the man turned around to face him, all the strength in his body funneled into this one punch. With it, he would crush this bastard's skull. He would leave no chance of life. None at all. He'd given enough mercy in the past. This soulless monster deserved none of it.

He swung.

* * *

**Dro:** Well, gee, that went south quickly. So much for Francis. And Italy. I have a sinking feeling this may not bode well for some people.

**Next Chapter:** An enraged Alfred gives his all to take down an equally furious Ivan as the seconds tick down on the stopwatch. Arthur breaks down as he watches Matthew quickly deteriorate, and Romano struggles to get a hold on himself as he suffers from the burning image of his brother falling to his death. And all-out death match finally breaks out between the nations still standing, but can any or all of them beat Ivan? Or is he just too strong and clever?


	23. A Cobalt Climax II

**Dro:** Here's part two of the amazing climax, guys! Enjoy! **And review!** Because I believe there are only about two chapters left in this fic.

**Chapter Summary:** Alfred and Ivan fight in a death match that begins to encompass everyone on the rooftop. But can any or all of them actually beat Ivan?

**Warnings:** Violence, Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH. Oh, woe is me!

* * *

He missed.

Ivan dodged at the last second, scarf snapping in the wind as the force of the move took Ivan rapidly backward. The gun swung forward, trying to land its aim on Alfred's masked head, but he dropped and rolled out of the way as Ivan fired the gun. Then he was up. And they fought. Ivan seemed mildly surprised at the speed and strength of his moves. The danced around each other, boots brushing stray strands of hair, fists nicking hanging threads of fabric. Ivan leapt out of the way as Alfred's fist slammed into the concrete of the stairwell that he'd cornered the man at. The wall imploded, shards of concrete flinging through the air, whipped away by the churning air from the helicopter blades.

Ivan's eyes widened, and Alfred caught him red-handed as the man snuck a glance at the rest of the crowd, honing in on the incapacitated other Alfred. Alfred smirked to himself. He knew Ivan's initial reaction would've been that he was fighting America. He'd fought his own Ivan more than enough times to recognize the man's moves and fighting style blindfolded. He supposed the other him and Ivan had had the same experience. He came at the man again, another bout of rage fueling his adrenaline rush.

Ivan picked up his pace. He slid past another fist with insane speed for his size and caught Alfred in the stomach with his knee. Heaving, Alfred stumbled back, Ivan pulling a knife from his coat and launching what was supposed to be the kill. Except it wasn't. The massive Russian suddenly jumped out of the way as a barrage of bullets littered the ground where he'd just been standing. Alfred turned to see Ludwig furiously aiming and shooting, rage searing across his fair features. He was mad. No, not made. Furious. No, that didn't even begin to cover it. Ludwig was breaking apart on the inside, the image of Feliciano falling to death ripping him further and further to pieces every single second.

For the briefest of reprieves, he'd thought he would no longer have to see this world's Feliciano's suffer. But now, now he'd watched the boy die. Painfully. Terrified. Knowing he'd failed. He gripped his rifle, following Ivan's rapid movements as the man dodged him before he shot. Ludwig would kill this man. He would shoot him until he was mutilated beyond recognition. No one hurt Feliciano and got away with. No one.

Huffing, Ivan suddenly changed his direction, charging straight for Ludwig. He barely had time to react before the man grabbed his rifle and heaved him forward, the strap to secure his gun now a death trap. Ivan flung him across the roof, and he landed in a heap, wrist snapping as he slammed into the rough stone beneath him. _Fuck!_ Ivan was zipping back toward him, but Alfred interceded. Ivan dodged another kick and backed away, noticing Gilbert and Antonio readying themselves to attack as well. Ivan was far outnumbered, and with Romano now recovering from his attack and enraged at the loss of his brother, he was about to be in an even worse position.

Alfred smirked to himself, knowing they had the bastard now. There was no way he could get out of this. Ludwig guarded the helicopter, Antonio and Gilbert the stairwell. He knew he had to watch it though. His eyes finally trailed back to Matthew and Arthur. Arthur was sending him pleading stares, praying that he would hurry and end this. He had Matthew curled against him now, the Canadian barely conscious and still losing blood. If they didn't finish this soon, Matt would die. He sent Gilbert and Ludwig a quick glance, a silent order. Then they charged.

Alfred saw everything in stark, brutal clarity. Ivan feinted to the left, Ludwig faltering at the false attack. Then he went right for Gilbert, who had aimed his gun to protect his brother. The man couldn't correct himself in time, and Ivan's fist slammed into his gut, sending him into a complete flip as his momentum kept him going. He hit the ground head first and rolled away, trying to shake off the dizziness from the impact. Ludwig leapt over, keeping time with America as they converged on the overpowered Russian. Alfred went for the man's unprotected stomach while Ludwig aimed for his.

Both missed.

Ivan dropped completely flat to the ground on his back, sending up a sharp kick that landed in Alfred's stomach and using the bent position of the American's body to cast the man over his head and into the oncoming Ludwig. He tumbled into Ludwig, knocking the man off balance, and they both fell to the ground in a knotted bundle. Ivan quickly rolled over and jumped back up, backing out of the way of another attack from Gilbert. A shot rang out, but Ivan had seen it coming. Antonio was haphazardly shooting with the other Alfred on his back, trying to keep the incapacitated man balanced on his back while desperately attempting to give his friends an edge.

It failed.

They all charged at Ivan again, knowing they were running low on time. Matt could die any minute. The other Alfred was still slowly deteriorating. They had to finish this. They _would_ finish this. Alfred's convictions riled him up, and he grappled with Ivan, hand to hand. They fiercely tried to push each other off balance, neither giving any slack in any direction. He glared at Ivan, knowing the man still had no clue who was behind the helmet. Ivan sneered at him, and Alfred suddenly let out from the pressure, Ivan falling forward as his own strength took him over. Alfred brought his fist down on the gunshot wound on Ivan's side, and he smirked as Ivan cringed in pain. But he missed the motion of Ivan's feet tangling around his own. The man heaved him off his feet, and he met the ground roughly. His head and shoulders burned with the sting of skin grating against concrete.

Then Ivan was up and evading Gilbert and Ludwig again. Both brothers were huffing with exhaustion. Ludwig's shoulder was obviously starting to hurt him. His arm started to falter in its movements. He'd injured it more when he'd been knocked over. Gilbert wasn't faring much better. A small trickle of blood ran down his face from just beneath his silver hairline. He was stumbling slightly, as if his balance was impaired. _Shit. Shit!_ Alfred yelled to were starting to lose their edge here. If they couldn't beat Ivan before he got a few more hits in, they were finished. How the hell was Ivan so strong? Had his rigid domination over most of the world increased his physical strength this much?

Desperate, knowing he was running out of time, Alfred gave a haggard, wary glance to Antonio and Romano, who were both struggling, Antonio on whether to protect the other Alfred or join in the fight, Romano with his injures. Blood dripped down his chin from his mouth, his lungs obviously in distress from the shattered ribs in his chest. As soon as Antonio saw Alfred look at him, he nodded. This was all or nothing. He slid the other Alfred, who was still mumbling to himself, eyes glazed and far off, onto the ground, sitting him against the wall of the stairwell. He sat his rifle in the incapacitated man's lap, vainly knowing the man wouldn't be able to use it even if he was attacked. But he had no choice in the matter. He had to fight. Or they would lose. He turned around and took a deep breath. Then he ran into battle like he was casting himself into another old war.

Ivan huffed, annoyed. He grabbed Antonio's wrist and swung the man around into Gilbert, sending them both tumbling away, tangled together. Ludwig lunged at Ivan, only to catch the man's knee in his abdomen. He ended up several feet away, clutching his stomach and heaving in air. Even with all of them fighting, Ivan was still stronger. Biting his lip, Alfred made one last mighty charge for the towering Russian. Ivan met him with another glare and a matching fist, and they were lost in a dance again, one that, this time, was far more erratic, far more winded.

They shuffled ever closer to the edge of the roof, both of them hyper-aware of it, both reminded of the Italy brother that had previously fallen over it. Alfred kept his eyes trained on Ivan, terrified that he would look over by accident and end up even more emotionally compromised by the sight of Feliciano's body. He swung a powerful fist at Ivan's face, and the man ducked underneath of it, delivering a swift uppercut to Alfred's chin that jarred his neck back and sent him flailing over backward.

His helmet came off.

The world went instantly silent.

A second later, the helmet clattered to the rooftop with a loud, high-pitched crack as the hard plastic met concrete. As it settled, Alfred dared to look at Ivan. Wide, violet eyes stared down at him disbelief, the realization dawning on him so hard he actually stumbled back a few steps. "You…" he flicked his eyes over to the other Alfred. "_Parallel._" He whispered harshly.

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "Surprise." He tensed himself to leap up at Ivan, only to have his efforts abruptly halted at the sight of the gun once again slipping from Ivan's pocket, whipped out by the Russian's large hand and pointed directly at Alfred before the man could even hope to move.

Alfred froze, his comrades doing the same. Gilbert and Ludwig and Antonio stood completely still, both knowing Ivan could and would pull that trigger any second. A shuddered whimper broke free from Arthur's lips as he stared on in complete and utter horror, terrified at losing another loved one in the span of ten minutes. Ivan took two steps forward, pressing the barrel of the gun to Alfred's forehead.

"I do not appreciate being tricked."

"What? Don't like other people playing your games, Ivan?"

Violet eyes narrowed into slits. "I see you are exactly the same no matter what world you come from."

Alfred snorted, smiling ruefully. "You know, Toris was convinced of that too."

Ivan's frown deepened. "Do not speak of Toris."

"Make me."

Ivan's finger tightened on the trigger. "It seems I will not be needing your services anymore. You were a mystery to me for sometime. I was expecting many others. Not another copy of America. I only have enough tolerance for one Alfred, I'm afraid." He pressed the cold metal harder against Alfred's skull.

Alfred's body was completely tense, the his fingers and arms shaking from the rigidness in his muscles. Ivan was going to shoot him. He was going to die here. He would never get back to his Arthur. Matt was going to die. Damn it! Damn it! He'd failed! He'd failed everyone! He was supposed to be the hero, damn it! How could he let this fucking bastard kill him?

"Enjoy the afterlife, America. And I must implore you to be patient. You will not be alone there for too long."

"Bastard! Don't you fucking dare!"

Ivan smiled. "Sorry, Alfred. But we're playing my game. And you've lost."

He pulled the trigger.

And the gun flew out of his hand, blow away by the force of another bullet.

Alfred whipped his head to the right, his eyes landing on his other self, who shakily held Antonio's rifle in his hands, his finger around the trigger, his eyes half-lidded and light still fading from his pupils. Ivan's attention was immediately caught by the other Alfred's interference, and he growled, irritated. A foot came up and kicked Alfred in the face, and he fell over.

"I will kill you with or without a gun." He brought his foot up, ready to crush Alfred's skull with a single, sickening crunch. The others were still too far away to help him, and as he struggled to sit up, he knew it was over. His other self managed one more shot, distracting Ivan for the briefest second as the bullet skewed far off its trajectory, his double's last spark of energy and clarity fading away.

Alfred grabbed onto the low border of the roof, readying himself for the inevitable life-ending blow as Ivan turned back toward, sneering with a sickening bitter grin.

Something flashed.

Something shiny.

Something black.

Something flying up toward him.

Alfred saw it.

And then he knew.

And then he caught Ivan's own gun and pointed it straight up at that motherfucker's face. Ivan had half a second to register what had just happened, the very beginning of immense fear flickering into his eyes.

And then Alfred shot him in the head.

In the second and a half that it took Ivan to fall to the ground, just dead but already chilled to the core, Alfred let the handgun fall freely from his hand and nearly leapt completely over the side of the building…

…just managing to catch the slipping hand of the wounded Feliciano as he lost his grip on the side of the building.

With all the force he had left in his body, Alfred heaved the injured Italy back over the border of the roof, the two falling into heap, Feliciano on top. Alfred distantly heard Romano scream his brother's name. His heart pounded in his chest, a wave of immense relief washing over him.

He'd won.

He'd actually won.

He'd been a split second from death, and he'd still won.

He wrapped his arms around Feliciano's gasping form as a low chuckle started working its way up from his chest. It belted out from his mouth as echoing laughter. "Feliciano. You saved the day!" He hugged the boy tighter, careful of his gunshot wound. As his laughter faded, he lowered his voice. "I owe you one."

Feliciano didn't say anything as he pulled away and looked Alfred in the face, pain in his eyes. "I am sorry for all I have done." His settled his hand over his bleeding chest, the wound obviously hurting him.

Alfred smiled. "Don't be. You did the right thing in the end."

"Feliciano!"

Lovino practically crashed into his brother, hugging him as tightly as he possibly could, tears streaming from his eyes. "_Dio! Dio! _I thought I'd lost you." He sobbed into Feliciano's shoulder.

Alfred slipped away from the brothers and turned to look at his own, a sense of dread coming over him as he saw Matt's pale, bloodless face. His brother was dying. He rushed over to Arthur and Matt, falling to his knees. "We need to get him help. Now."

"I know. I know." Arthur mumbled. "How could he do that…? How could I let him…?"

"Arthur," Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder, "don't blame yourself. If it had been me, I would've done the same."

"Alfred."

"He loves you too, Arthur." _He loves you even though the sight of me with you hurts him. He loves you that much. _

"I know." Arthur whispered.

"Ar…" He paused, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him. "Matt?" Matthew's hand twitched and started moving, gradually coming to rest on his coat pocket. "Matt, can you hear me?"

Pained purple eyes fluttered open, Matt swallowing harshly. "Al…"

"No, Matt, don't talk. We're going to get you out of here. Get you help. Just hold on."

"No…A…Al…" Matt's hand slipped inside his pocket, exhausting itself with such a action as it produced something small. A stopwatch. Matthew's sloppily placed it in Alfred's hand.

"What's that for?" Alfred paused as he heard Arthur gasp, and he looked up to see the man's face contorting into sheer terror.

Alfred looked at the watch.

It was counting down.

From two minutes and thirty-two seconds.

* * *

**Dro:** So, who was expecting that? Be honest now!

**Next Chapter:** The group scrambles to escape before Ivan's mansion explodes.


	24. An Arsenic Action

**Dro:** Admit it, you guys thought I died, didn't you? No really, sorry about the mini-hiatus. I decided to take it upon myself to sub the Hetalia movie (-psst!-It's on my LJ (nick_rolynd)). Took me four days. -dies- Anyway, sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you guys ahead of time. It was kind of a whim. Anyway, one more chapter left of this! **Don't forget to review as this winds down now!**

**Chapter Summary:** The remaining nations hurry to escape before Ivan's mansion explodes.

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro doesn't own APH. I mean, obviously. Why would I need to sub a movie about my own show?

* * *

"Say that again."

"The mansion is rigged to explode!"

Alfred's eyes honed in on the rapidly decreasing seconds on the stopwatch. Time seemed to have sped up, every moment he spent frantically thinking of a way to get them out of this equating to several seconds on the timer. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Guys!" He whipped around to face the others on the roof, all of whom had frozen at Arthur's exclamation. Gilbert and Antonio, still huffing in exhaustion from the battle, stood completely tense, eyes wide. Ludwig, who was helping Romano staunch the blood flowing freely from the wound in Italy's chest, met Alfred's eyes with a look that clearly read: "Why? Why can't this just be over?"

Alfred look to his other self and then to Matt. Both were incapacitated. They'd be carrying them both out of here. His eyes instantly landed on the helicopter. It could have easily been another one of Ivan's tricks, but they had no choice. They wouldn't be getting out of here through the doors, and jumping from the roof of a three story building with three gravely injured people was not a viable option. He sucked in a deep breath. He hadn't flown a helicopter in almost a decade. He wasn't sure he could even identify the controls on this one. But it was either risk the helicopter or go up in a massive ball of flames. _Fuck this._

"Get everyone into the helicopter! Now!" He spun around and hoisted Matt up from Arthur's arms, careful not to press too hard on his brother's wounds. Matt was quickly fading. They would have get to back to Moscow within an half an hour. Max. Possible with the helicopter, but it all depended on Alfred's skills here.

"Alfred…" Arthur started.

"Not now. Just get into the copter." He rushed for it, Arthur quickly trailing behind him. He flicked his eyes to the rest of the roof again as he let Arthur open the door for him and hop in first so he could pass Matt in gently. Antonio and Gilbert were supporting the other Alfred, who was still barely clinging on his consciousness. Ludwig held Italy, Romano sticking close to his brother's side. They converged on the helicopter just as Alfred and Arthur secured Matt. Alfred shuffled out of their way so they could get the other injured inside the roaring machine. "I need a co-pilot." He mumbled. Just in case.

"I'll do it."

Alfred stared at Romano.

"What? Don't think I know how to fly a helicopter, bastard?"

Alfred shook his head. He wouldn't deny he was surprised that Romano had volunteered, but as soon as he thought about it more, it finally clicked. Romano kept his eyes trained on Ludwig and Italy even while speaking. Alfred could see the emotion bubbling in the man's green eyes. Jealousy. Loss. Pain. Understanding. Acceptance. It hurt him to know that his younger brother had someone outside of Romano that he could depend on. Romano had been dependent on Feliciano, but his brother was not dependent him. And it hurt him, made him feel weak. Alfred laid a hand on the boy's shoulders. Romano finally broke his drowning gaze.

"What?"

"It's okay, Romano."

The other man bit his lip. "Whatever, bastard. Let's get out of here before this shithole blows up."

Alfred took the hint and hopped into the pilot's seat. His eyes quickly roved over the controls. He cringed. It wasn't too different from what he remembered, but for all he knew, the equipment didn't work the same. If he misread something, he could send them spiraling into a fiery death. Then again, if they didn't get off the roof, that's exactly what would happen. Alfred turned the stopwatch around in his hand, daring to look at it again. His heart started pumping faster with every second that the watch shed from the time.

One minute, twenty seconds.

Could they even get far enough away with that time?

"Guys, we need to hurry."

"Right. Almost done." Antonio said as Ludwig and Gilbert helped him get the incapacitated Alfred into the vehicle. Arthur paled as he got a look at the man's head wound, and his lip quivered like he was about to break out into sobs. But he managed to hold himself back, making sure he was touching both Matthew and the other Alfred at all times. Antonio and Gilbert hauled themselves into the helicopter and slammed the door shut. Sucking in a breath, he placed the headset on, Romano mirroring him.

"You know how to do this?" Romano grumbled.

"Yes. Now shut up." He barked. No time for niceties now. They had less than sixty seconds to get this deathtrap off the roof and far enough away to avoid the blast. He wrapped his hand around the control stick, flicking all the buttons and switches he remembered. The he moved it. And they were up. It was a slow ascent at first, the tension mounting with each passing second. The interior of the helicopter was completely silent. All its occupants held their breath.

Forty seconds.

The roof slowly started to look lower and lower. The trees around the building slowly morphed into shrubbery. Slowly. So slowly.

Thirty seconds.

Alfred shifted the controls, the aircraft moving to face the direction of Moscow. And then he floored it. As much as he could floor a helicopter anyway. The vehicle finally picked up speed, and the ticking time bomb behind them started to disappear into the sea of trees.

Ten seconds.

"We did it. We're out." Romano murmured, staring blankly out the window as if he couldn't comprehend defeating Ivan. Alfred hadn't bothered sparing the man's body another glance. He'd shot Ivan in the head. He was dead. Gone. Right? The chill went all the way to his fingers. God, he just wanted to be completely out of danger. But they were, right? The mansion was behind them. They would probably see it explode in the distance, and then they would all rejoice. Right? They'd won. They were heading back to Moscow for medical treatment. Everyone would live. They'd all be all right.

Alfred lost control of the helicopter.

"Holy—!" The vehicle spun around wildly in the air as the shockwave slammed into it. He grabbed at the control stick, trying his best to steady it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur desperately cling to Matt's prone body and the other Alfred's incapacitated form. Ludwig wrapped his hands firmly around Feliciano, who gasped at the jarring force. Gilbert and Antonio braced themselves against the sides of the helicopter, trying to keep their footing. Alfred finally managed to steady the vehicle, but the sensors were going crazy. _What the hell?_ Their direction now skewed by the impact, he had a good view of the location of Ivan's home.

Or where it had been.

Trees for what had to be a mile—at least—had been blown down by the sheer force of the shockwave. And dead center, ground zero, was nothing. An empty, black crater. It formed right before their eyes, appearing ever slowly as the massive mushroom cloud of ash and dirt and debris dissipated, charred pieces of everything from elaborate furniture to twigs raining down onto the now scarred and seared patch of land.

"Jesus Christ!" Gilbert yell, eyes glued to the window. "That could've been us!" He collapsed back into a seat. "Holy hell. What the fuck was that bastard thinking, setting up a bomb like that?"

"It was Ivan. No one knows how he thought." Romano heavily emphasized the _thought_. Past tense. Because Ivan was dead. Alfred tried to steady his shaking hands. His body had taken more than he could handle, and he was starting to lose it. _Calm down. It's over. Calm down. That was it._

That was it.

They flew the rest of the way to Moscow in peace, nothing but the curling tendrils of black smoke from Ivan's former home trailing behind them as a reminder of what had just happened. If Alfred had had a choice, he would've chosen to block that entire night out. One disaster after another. One death after another. One betrayal. Francis. Damn it. They'd left him there too. Alfred was split on this. On the one hand, Francis had _betrayed_ them to Ivan. On the other, he was still Francis. And they just left his body there to get blown to shreds with Ivan. He shook his head. One thing after another. He'd think about all this later. He needed to get Matt, Feliciano, and his other self help first.

Then he'd sit down and have a nice, long night of contemplation. He'd get all his feelings sorted out. He'd get all this relationship mess dealt with. He'd try and bury those damn memories from this night that were bound to mentally scar him. As Moscow grew larger in his line of sight, a sense of finality began to settle over him. They'd defeated Ivan. He and Ludwig would be able to go home now. This world would be free again, and the nations could finally resume their lives without the Red fear lurking in the background.

"Matthew?"

Alfred was jarred from his thoughts just as the secret hospital building caught his sight again. "What is it?" He yelled back to a panicked Arthur.

"He's not breathing! Matthew's not breathing!"

Alfred felt his own lungs seize. As quickly and safely as he good, he brought the helicopter down into the parking lot of the hospital, not even bothering to turn the machine off as he rushed out with the rest of them toward the doors, Arthur, despite his complete fatigued, hauling Matthew in arms like he was a feather. They entered the building just as Feliks and a number of armed guards emerged from the elevator. The Polish man immediately shouted some orders, and the guards helped Arthur into the elevator with Matthew, taking them up. Alfred managed to squeeze in just before the door closed, cutting off Ludwig and the others, who hurried toward another elevator that Feliks had been gesturing too. Alfred got a look at Matt. His brother's skin was the palest he'd ever seen it. It appeared as if all his blood had drained from his body. Arthur was covered in Matt's blood, and so was he, Alfred realized. When he'd held Matt to load him onto the helicopter, his brother's life blood had seeped into his clothing. Matt was dying right in front of him. He dared to brush Matt's cheek with his finger. Cold. Dead.

No. No. No. Matt couldn't be dead! He prayed to a God he didn't believe in for this stupid fucking elevator to hurry up, for his brother's life. _Please don't take Mattie away from me._ He knew this wasn't _his_ Matt. God, did he know. But it was _Matt_. And Matt was Matt no matter what world he was in. Finally, after what seemed like _years_, the elevator dinged and the door opened, revealing an already prepared stretcher that the one of the guards had radioed up for.

Arthur laid the unconscious and breathless Matthew on the stretcher, the doctors immediately jumping into action. "No pulse!" One of them said. "Get a defibrillator ready." Another shouted to a nurse, who immediately ran ahead. They wheeled Matt down the hallway rapidly and into a surgery room. One of them broke off and ushered for Arthur and him to stay back. "I know he's close to you, but we need you out of the room."

Alfred would've protested had he had any strength left. But his adrenaline had worn away, and he was left without a shred of energy. As was Arthur, he could tell. As soon as the doors to the room closed, they both stumbled back and collapsed into chairs, Alfred sucking in deep breaths.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah." He answered to a sleepy looking Arthur. "You?"

"I'm fine." He swallowed. "Thanks to Matthew."

"Don't blame yourself. You would've done the same for him had your positions been reversed, right?"

"Of course, but…"

"Look at it from that perspective, Arthur. Would you want Matt to blame himself if you got hurt protecting him?"

Arthur turned his head away, tears prickling his eyes. Suddenly, the other elevator down the hall dinged open, revealing a rush of people that included all their comrades. More emergency doctors immediately picked up the bleeding Feliciano and the now unconscious other Alfred. Arthur jumped up, voice hitched. "God, Al…" He rushed over to where the doctors were wheeling the unconscious Alfred away, following them around the corner. Alfred let him disappear without another word. Arthur needed to be near his own Alfred. He stayed in his chair for several minutes until an worn out Ludwig came shuffling around the corner where Feliciano had disappeared with another group of medical staff. The German looked ready to pass out where he was standing, and Alfred beckoned for him to sit in the same chair Arthur had.

He dropped into the seat as if his legs had given out on him. Alfred recalled that Ludwig had been injured, and he glanced at the man's shoulder. "You should probably get looked at too."

"Not until Feliciano gets out of surgery."

Alfred cringed at the pain in Ludwig's voice, and he tried to reason with the man. "Look, Ludwig, won't you want to stay with Feliciano when he gets out of surgery? So how about you go get fixed up now so you won't have to leave him?"

Ludwig's weary blue eyes met his own, and after several seconds of intense silence, the man finally acquiesced. He called over to a passing nurse, who immediately perked up and escorted him away after he told her he was injured. And now that Alfred thought about it, so was he. Most of his wounds were just superficial. A few cuts, a few bruises. But now that he was testing his body, he realized his ankle felt sprained. Groaning, he stood up to search for someone who could help him. He'd gotten out of this fight a lot better than most, but he wasn't foolish enough to think that meant he could ignore his own injuries.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, sighing.

Then he paused.

There was something…_wet_ in his pocket. Confused, he dug around, pulling out the stopwatch that he'd stuck in there hastily a while ago as they were flying. Something inside the stopwatch had _burst_, and a sickly-looking liquid was running from it. Alfred let the watch drop to the floor, shaking his hand off as he watched the cracked plastic bounce until the screen was facing upward, panic suddenly rising. What the hell kind of liquid could be in a stopwatch? And then he got a look at the screen. The screen was no longer a time. It was two words.

Alfred's eyes drifted from the screen to the liquid staining his shirt, his gloves, his pants, seeping into dozens of cuts on arms and hands. Then he looked back to the mocking words. The last words Ivan had not gotten to speak out loud. He would've screamed. He really would've. But it was at that exact moment that the poison hit his heart. And instead of screaming…

He fell.

'_Got you.'_

* * *

**Dro:** Ha! You totally thought the action was over, didn't you? Jeez, Ivan. Doesn't even stop playing games after he's dead.

**No preview this time! The last chapter is a secret!**


	25. A Russet Recovery

**Dro: **I _lied_! There's one more chapter after this! I knew when I hit 5.2k and no one had been sent back home yet that I was in trouble. Oops. Anyway. You have another chapter to look forward to! And I promise, _that_ will be the last one.

**Chapter Summary:** The aftermath.

**Warnings:** None.

**Disclaimer: **Dro will never, ever, never, ever, never...you get the point, right?

* * *

Alfred didn't wake up for two and a half months.

Ludwig remembered the day "it" happened very clearly. He'd come back from getting himself properly stitched up just in time to hear that Feliciano was fine, just in time to hear that Matthew, while in critical condition, would live, just in time to hear that the other Alfred, while possibly suffering from mild motor impediments, would eventually completely recover from his head injury. Then he'd rounded that corner, looking for Alfred to tell him the good news. And what he'd found…

The image of the unconscious America, poison slicking his hand, motionless, not breathing, not _living_…how could it be that they'd killed Russia and the man had still managed to mortally wound another person afterward? What other traps had that monster hidden? Was Moscow rigged to explode too? Was there some kind of world doomsday device laying in wait somewhere to bring their finally peaceful world grinding to a halt as it tried to recover?

He'd sat by Alfred's bedside every day. Arthur and the still recovering other Alfred had tried time and time again to get him to agree to go home. Arthur was more than willing to send him home at any time, but Ludwig, despite his heart aching for nothing more than to see Feliciano and get his life back on track, couldn't let himself do it. He couldn't leave Alfred here like this. It wasn't fair. Alfred had been the one to kill Russia. Alfred had saved this world. And it was very possible that Alfred would have…permanent damage when he awoke. How could Ludwig justify leaving him in this world? He trusted the others, of course, but this was the Alfred of _his_ world, and he felt an obligation to stay with the man. Alfred had come to save _him_ from this place. And he would do his best to repay Alfred for that.

So he sat there for the same two-hour slot every single day, sometimes watching Alfred silently, sometimes reading the news or watching TV. This world was slowly beginning to blossom again. Without their leader, the other Soviet states had been left confused and disoriented. The resistance army had quickly overtaken them. Yao had given up without a single shot being fired, and he'd managed to exonerate himself from any guilt by giving generous aid to the slowly recovering Europe. He wouldn't be getting any passes on the international level anytime soon. Aid. Trade. Acceptance. But Ludwig had to admit, Yao had still managed to work this outcome toward his favor.

Those who had been forced into Soviet servitude were freed. All of the Nordics reclaimed their countries in triumph. All the refugee and in-hiding nations of Europe returned to the surface to breathe free air. For some, however, it was a solemn moment. Elizaveta had returned to Hungary only to be faced with a devastated population and the weight of a completely destroyed Austria on her shoulders. But she was still working her hardest. For Roderich, if for nothing else. Feliks had had to deal with a amnesia-wracked Lithuania emerging from his coma. He was slowly remembering, bit by bit, but it was unlikely he'd ever completely recover his memories. Now well enough to travel again, the pair of them had returned to Poland to help with the reconstruction efforts.

The others had also dispersed. Some had been assigned to look over the countries whose nations had died. Russia had managed to kill so many of them that there weren't enough nations to go around now. As the countries with dead nations started to build themselves up again, however, they all knew that new nations would be emerging. Scouts were constantly on the lookout for new nation children. Several had already been found in South America and Africa. Russia had burned one world to the ground, but a new one would rise from the ashes. That much was certain.

The other Alfred, now almost completely recovered from his head injury, had headed home to America for the first time in several months. Most of the country was still uninhabitable and would be for years, but several large areas had been spared the worst of the nuclear bombing and were thankfully, salvageable. As the news of the USSR's defeat spread across the world and the announcement that America was rebuilding reached the ears of its refugees, people began to pour back over the border, rekindling the spark of growth of the once proud nation. It, too, would recover in time. A long time. But it would.

Arthur was rebuilding on the ruins of his capital, his exiled people slowly beginning to trickle back into its borders. He was also watching over France now. Watching. And waiting. Waiting for the new nation to emerge that would replace his long time friend. Ludwig knew just how badly the man's betrayal had hurt Arthur, but he also knew Arthur could never forsake the friendship that they'd had. He would take care of this new France. And that was that.

There was only one other person that stayed in Moscow with him. And that was Matthew. One of the shots had grazed his spinal cord and paralyzed him, and he was currently in a wheelchair. He, however, had lived, and with his country recovering very quickly—much faster than many others—it was unlikely he would be in that chair for very long. He was already going through physical therapy, slowly regaining the use of his legs. It would be a grueling recovery, but he would make it through. It wasn't his paralysis that concerned Ludwig. It was the extent to which the boy went to be near Alfred's side. _He's gotten too attached_. He'd tell himself all the time. _He's going to get himself severely hurt when Alfred leaves. _Ludwig wasn't blind. He could see the affection the boy had for his world's Alfred, and while he couldn't guess the extent of it, he could guess its origins. He wasn't ignorant to the way that Arthur and Alfred's relationship tended to exclude the other boy. This Alfred, on the other, didn't have another Arthur—at least not one in this world—and therefore, had more attention to place on Matthew.

Ludwig had often wondered just how they were both going to get out of this without emotional scars. Alfred would have to break this Matthew's heart, and he would have to….

And that was another thing.

Feliciano.

Feliciano and Lovino had returned to Italy soon after the fall of Russia. At the first meeting of the world's nations after the Soviet defeat had been confirmed, most of the nations present had completely antagonized the Italy brothers. Ludwig couldn't deny that it was for good reason. Almost all the nations that had died in this war with Russia had died at the hands of the brothers. It was a hard thing to look past. They wouldn't execute them, no, because they _had_ switched sides and they _had_ helped defeat Russia. But the nations of the world would not rest until they punished the brothers for what they had done. Especially Romano. When the world had discovered that the man had so horribly betrayed and emotionally destroyed his own brother, the outraged nations had almost decided to kill him right then and there. It had been Feliciano that held them back.

Feliciano had asked them to let him share the blame, and while the nations obviously bore so much more hatred toward Romano than him, they had let him do so. They weren't in prison—at least, not yet—but once the world got back on its feet, the fate of the brothers wasn't really much of a mystery. The thought of Feliciano rotting away in prison frustrated Ludwig. There was nothing he could do anymore. This was no longer his fight. It had never really been. And it wouldn't be the moment Alfred woke up. Because then they would leave.

Or so he thought.

When Alfred woke up those two and a half months later, it became painfully obvious that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Arthur _could_ have sent them both home then, but it was a major risk with Alfred's condition. First and foremost, the poison had damaged his brain. His memories were fragmented and scattered, and he would often become incredibly confused, lost in the middle of sentences, forgetting where he was going in the middle of going there. His hands shook from motor damage. His heart was still weak and occasionally erratic. He was in no condition to travel to another dimension. So instead of instantly calling up Arthur to send them home, Ludwig rented an apartment building and settled down in Moscow. He'd asked for a job to help the recovery, and they'd given him one without a second glance.

Today, he sat in the living room of his apartment, reading over papers about shipments of aid to the Baltics. Ah, that was another thing. Eduard's body had been found not long after the resistance forces moved to occupy Moscow. Now that burden had also fallen on the still-fatigued Feliks. Thankfully, Latvia had not been harmed, and he was safely back in his home country. Shaking his head for the millionth time in a week at the mess this world was still in, he signed a few of the papers and stuck them in an envelope so he could drop them off at the shipment distribution center later.

His phone rang. He crossed the threshold into his tiny kitchen and swiped the ringing mobile off of his counter. "Ludwig." He answered.

It was Matthew. "Hey, Ludwig. I have some good news! Al got a big chunk of his memory back a few minutes ago."

"Good to hear." It wasn't time for him to visit Alfred, who was still staying in the hospital for rehab, but perhaps he would go early today. He glanced at the pile of papers. He had plenty of time to finish them. Grabbing his coat off the rack, he started heading for the stairs. "I'm heading over to you right now. Perhaps we should have a special dinner to celebrate?"

"That sounds great! He's practically begging for hamburgers!" Matthew chuckled.

"Sounds like the Alfred I know."

He flicked off the light in his apartment and let the door close behind him.

* * *

That segment of memory was the first in a long line. After that moment, it was as if something clicked. Alfred started rapidly regaining everything he'd forgotten. Things seemed to be reordering themselves in his brain. His hands started shaking less. He confusion slowly started disappearing, and the vibrant clarity of the former America started to return. Four months after Alfred woke up, he was almost completely recovered. Some spots in his mind were still hazy. Sometimes, his fingers would slip up a bit. But he was rapidly returning to a state of perfect health. And along with him, so was Matthew.

Matthew was on his feet again. His legs would quickly tired if he tried to go long distances, but he could make his way from room to room and down the hall and back again, and they all knew he would be back to his former self in no time. Just like the rest of this world, he was recovering. And recovery was the _goal _of this entire world. Ludwig couldn't think of a time in the past when he'd every seen the world so united in a single cause. Recover. Rebuild. Move on. They'd suffered a trauma so intense, it would probably resound throughout many generations of humanity, and it would be carved into the history books forever. But that trauma had ushered in a period of peace in the world. The nations of this world would cooperate with one another for many years to come.

The elevator dinged as it reached the bottom floor, and a tickle of a memory best left buried brushed against Ludwig's mind. As the doors parted, he was greeted with the sight of a disgruntled Arthur, who was being swarmed with attendants shoving papers in his face, and an Alfred trying to fend said attendants off. The two pairs of eyes landed on them as they stepped out of the elevator.

"Ludwig. How're you doing?" The other Alfred asked him, smiling.

"I'm well. And you?"

He put up two thumbs. "Got the new government installed and everything."

"Glad to here it." America had rapidly been recovering its strength. It had a different capital now, a different population, different cities, and slightly different ideals. But it was still America. And its recovery was a beacon of hope to the world.

Arthur shuffled by him wordlessly as he chatted with the other Alfred, and he watched the man out of the corner of his eye as he hugged Matthew and his own Alfred tightly. He didn't miss how Arthur lingered on the latter just a second longer. And neither did Matthew. Ludwig sighed inwardly. This wasn't the day he wanted to dwell on the relationship problems that the two Alfreds, Arthur, and Matthew had with one another. As he finished speaking with the other Alfred, the man ushered him out the door behind the other three. Today, they were having a celebratory lunch.

Because today, they were leaving.

It had been a long road and a full nine months, but they were finally going home. He could only hope the world hadn't forgotten them. He knew that was a ludicrous thought. Of course the world hadn't forgotten two of its nations. It wasn't really that idea that caught him up. It was the way he was slowly forgetting his own world. All his memories were intact, unlike Alfred's, but it wasn't the memories that were getting to him. It was the routine. He'd been here so long that this world was _normal_ and _mundane_ and…dare he say it, _home_. He'd lived in this place for nine months. He'd watched and helped it end a true _world_ war and take down an oppressive dictator. He'd watched and helped it begin to recover from the devastation inflicted upon it. He'd unintentionally _become_ a part of this world. He'd spent so long insisting he wasn't truly a part of this place, but that was a lie now.

It would hurt to leave. But it would also hurt to stay.

He shook his head at his conflicted feelings.

"Something wrong?" The other Alfred asked. They were just walking down the street to a restaurant Ludwig had been to many times now. He knew the owners personally. He _knew_ the people of this world.

"I'm okay. It's just…" He trailed off, unsure how to explain this to someone who couldn't possible understand it. And yet somehow, he did.

"You've become so used to living here that it seems foreign to go _home_, haven't you?"

"Exactly."

The other Alfred patted his shoulder. "It'll be okay, Ludwig. Trust me. Just remember how terribly your loved ones at home must be missing you. You belong there. And don't get me wrong, now, we love having you here. But you need to go home. I know if Arthur got transported to another dimension, I'd be scared every minute of every day until I got him back. I wouldn't be able to rest. The people of your world, Ludwig…they _have_ to be feeling the same way. So you need to return." He squeezed Ludwig's shoulder gently.

Ludwig smiled back at him. "I know." But unlike at the start of this journey, when he'd been more eager than anything to return to his world, to his Feliciano, to his brother, to his life…leaving now would _hurt_. Leaving these people would _hurt_. But that was okay, he knew. Because returning to his world would absolve more pain than it would cause. And that's what mattered to him the most.

* * *

Alfred woofed down his burger and slurped at his drink. His other self followed his example, mocking Arthur's chastising, and they both laughed afterward. He was finally going home today, to his own Arthur. He thought back to the past several months. Most of it was a blur of confusion and smudged memories. Ivan had gotten one last laugh on him, and it had cost him nearly a year. _Bastard._ He wondered—not for the first time—how he would face his own Ivan at home now. He'd _shot_ the man in the head in this world after a fight to the death. That would most certainly impact how he viewed and treated Ivan. There was no way he could pretend _something_ wasn't different, even if he could somehow manage to keep the secret of what had happened in this place.

His reverie was interrupted by Matthew pushing his chair out and excusing himself, saying he had to use the restroom. His hand brushed Alfred's shoulder, and Alfred immediately knew where this was going. During his long recovery, Matthew had been exceedingly patient with him, not mentioning anything about the relationship he desperately wanted to have with Alfred, but once his memories had come back, and he knew just how Matt felt about him…well, guilt wasn't a strong enough world. Today, he would be leaving Matt, who was desperately in love with him. It had always been set to end this way. Neither had ever questioned that. But to actually go through with it…

Alfred had acknowledged his feelings now for good. He _loved_ Arthur. His own Arthur. And while he loved Matt on a completely different standard to a completely different degree, he couldn't lead Matt on like this. Today, he would make sure Matt knew how he felt, and while he knew it would irreparably hurt his brother, he also knew it was better than leaving and letting Matt pine away for him, shifting his unreturned and unnoticed attention back on his other self. Matt needed to move on. He needed to turn around and look at new horizons. He needed to get himself off this path of emotional destruction.

So he stood up and pushed his chair back, excusing himself too.

Matt was waiting for him in the ally behind the restaurant. It wasn't the ideal place for this to go down (then again, if Matt started beating him up for this…), but it would have to do. As soon as the door shut behind him, Matt was on him, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him into a desperate, searing kiss. He let the other man kiss him passively, not bothering to accept or reject Matt's advances. After a moment, the younger man pulled away.

"Al?"

"Matt…"

Alfred _saw_ it as Matt peeled away his façade, revealing the pain underneath. And before Matt even spoke, Alfred already knew what he was going to say.

"I know you love Arthur."

Alfred swallowed, but Matthew met his eyes head on with something akin to resignation. "I hear it in the way you talk about him. I see it in the way you look at him. I know it's not _this_ Arthur too." He cut Alfred off. "I get it, Al. I really do. I can't stop the way you feel about Arthur…in any world apparently." His voice hitched slightly, and Alfred could feel his own heart breaking. "I understand that. And I…I really hope…when you get home…I hope you have a good relationship with him…" A tear slid down his face. "I really do!" He cut Alfred off again. "I'm not stupid enough to think I can somehow come between you. Trying would only make you hate me. And I love you, so I want you to be happy. So…please…um…I really hope…"

Alfred embraced him, hugging his brother tightly. His heart ached. Matt was breaking just trying to let him go. "Matt. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never should have led you on…"

"You didn't! No! I understood from the beginning. Really, I did. It was just…you at least acknowledged my feelings unlike my Al, and that made me cling to you. But I was never delusional enough to think that I could get in the way of your feelings for your Arthur. I knew this would come to an end like this. I always knew."

"Matt…"

"I love you…"

Alfred stiffened. "I know, Matt." He rubbed circles into his brother's back, trying to console him the best he could. He was broken out of his attempt when he felt Matt shaking his head.

"No, you don't."

"Huh?"

"You, Alfred. I love _you._ Not him."

Alfred felt like the floor had dropped out from under him.

"I just wanted to tell you that before you left. I know I should've kept quiet. I know it's going to hurt us both. But I just…I couldn't let you leave without telling—"

Alfred slammed their lips together. Matt melted into it. His arms tightened around Alfred's neck as Alfred's wound their way around Matt's waist. He kissed Matt deeply, tongues briefly pressing together. Matt's eyes fluttered shut. Alfred was admitting to himself what he'd been denying these past months. He really _had_ developed romantic feelings for Matt. He hadn't been planning on ever telling Matt the truth, especially with him leaving today. But Matt had told him the truth of the matter, that he had stopped thinking of Alfred as a replacement. And therefore, Alfred could no longer bring himself to lie. He loved Arthur more than anything. But God, if didn't have feelings for Matt!

When they parted, their lips cheeks were flushed, and their lips were swollen. Matt whispered to himself, ending with drawn out "Al…"

"Matt, I…"

"What're you two doing out here?"

The jumped apart, both heads shooting toward the Alfred in the doorway. Unintentionally, their separation let the other Alfred get a better look a them, and when his eyebrows shot up, Alfred knew they were in trouble. Blue eyes narrowed. "You two…you're…" He struggled to get the words out. "But…Matt…"

"It's none of your business, Alfred." Matt spat back.

"The hell it's not! That man is me!"

"No, he isn't! He's not nearly as big a dick as you are." And then Matt was gone, pushing roughly past his brother and forcing himself to keep his balance despite the weakness in his legs. Both Alfreds were left to watch after Matt's retreat, and when his other self turned toward him, eyes wide, and yet, suspicious, Alfred knew he had a lot of explaining to do.

* * *

Ludwig sat at the table across from an uncomfortable looking Arthur. He himself was uncomfortable in the awkward silence that had sprouted up from the abrupt departure of both Alfreds and Matthew. He had a pretty good idea of what was going on now, and he thought it best to stay out of it. Coughing, he tried to start up a distracting conversation.

"So, Arthur, did you test the inter-dimensional spell or whatever? I trust you and all, I just want to make sure nothing goes awry."

He saw Arthur immediately stiffen as soon as he said "spell." The man nearly choked on the biscuit he was eating. Recovering, he waved a hand at Ludwig. "Yes. Yes. I'm sure it works." There was a odd glint in his eyes, and Ludwig was honestly clueless as to what it meant. He wanted to question Arthur further, and he would have too…

…if an angry Matthew hadn't stomped back to the table. He plopped back in his seat. "I'm finished." He spat at Arthur. "When are we leaving?"

"Do I want to know what happened…?" Arthur slowly replied.

Matthew glared at him. "Like I'd tell you anyway." He turned his away, refusing to spare Arthur another glance.

Arthur gaped and pleadingly looked at Ludwig. "What did I do?"

Ludwig shrugged. Now he knew _exactly_ what was going on.

* * *

The last time Ludwig had seen Feliciano was almost a month ago. The brothers' trial for war crimes had been on the verge of going into full swing, and the boys' freedom was bound to be a short-lived experience at that point. Ludwig had left Moscow for the first time since moving in to fly to Venice. He and Feliciano had sat in a little café and enjoyed some fresh pastries and small talk. They hadn't dared to speak for the longest time about the trial or the brothers' inevitable punishment, instead choosing to skirt the issue in favor of the brighter sides of life.

Then they'd taken a walk, Ludwig admiring the city of Venice once again. He hadn't visited it in the longest time. They crossed a bridge that overlooked a canal, and they admired the slowly setting sun in the distance.

"_What will you do?"_ He'd finally dared to ask.

Feliciano had shrugged. _"My relationship with Lovino is pretty much nonexistent now. We are no longer on hateful terms, but we are also no longer brothers. I will be doing things by myself now. That's all I've decided."_

"_And what if…?"_

"_What if they sentence me to a century in prison? A human's lifetime? To torture or permanent disfigurement or some other heinous punishment? Who knows? Grin and bear it?"_

"_I don't want to see you hurt."_

"_I have already been hurt. What is a little more to what I have already endured?"_

That was a new Feliciano speaking. He'd gradually recovered some semblance of emotional stability. He'd gradually started to heal from his mental breakdown. But he was forever changed.

"_I don't think you should be punished at all."_

Feliciano had given him a look of skepticism. _"I am not insane, Ludwig. I was in control of my actions for every nation I killed, for everyone I slaughtered. Their deaths are on my shoulders. Whatever punishment I am dealt, I deserve."_

"_Your resignation doesn't make me feel better."_

Feliciano had smiled sadly up at him and playfully flicked his hair_. "Me either."_

That was the last they had spoken. Ludwig had tried calling him several times, but the man had never picked up the phone. The last he'd heard, the trial was going south for the brothers. Their punishment would likely be severe. He had started to become increasingly worried when he failed to be able to contact Feliciano, but Arthur had assured him the boys had not been put in prison. They were still appearing in court as ordered and were free to roam Italy—not to leave the country, however—as they wished. As long as they complied with the others' demands, they wouldn't face and punishment until a verdict was reached. And that only made Ludwig worry more. If he wasn't in jail, then where was he? Why wasn't he answering his calls?

* * *

They stood on the outskirts of town, a winter chill starting to blow through the area. Ludwig adjusted the bag on his back. He hadn't gathered too many belongings of significance, but there were a few that he wanted to keep. He'd prepared this bag the day before, carefully cataloguing all his belongings. Most of them he'd given away to neighbors and friends. They all wished him a goodbye as he left the apartment that day, none of them knowing just where he was going.

He glanced at Arthur, who was mouthing the spell again. A magic circle had been carefully drawn on the ground earlier, and Ludwig looked at it with trepidation. He was going home. The term sounded so foreign to him now. The world he'd come from that has been his home for centuries. It shouldn't have felt this way, but he'd settled into this life. Frowning, he looked up at the overcast sky. Closing his eyes, he thought of Feliciano. _His_ Feliciano. This world's Feliciano had not contacted him despite the fact that he'd left several messages saying he was leaving today. If it was to end this way, then so be it. He thought to himself. He'd been delayed enough. He needed to return to his real home before this one grew on him anymore.

Alfred shuffled on his feet, looking uncomfortable. After lunch, the two Alfreds and Matthew had locked themselves in a room and had a long "discussion." Surprisingly, when they'd emerged, they seemed to have reconciled the situation. Now they were all standing together, Matthew's hand intertwined with Alfred's, the other Alfred throwing occasional resigned glances at them. Ludwig pursed his lips. Another reason they needed to leave here. They were getting too caught up in this world. Far too caught up.

A bright light suddenly flared up. Everyone hushed and turned to look at Arthur, who'd activated his magic circle. Shrugging his shoulders in relief, Arthur turned to look at them. He nodded. "It's ready."

Ludwig didn't move for the first few seconds, then he realized he was stalling. Every step felt like he had weights tied to his feet. But somehow, he ended up in the magic circle. When he turned to look at the small crowd before him, he actually _wasn't_ shocked to see Matthew kissing Alfred. It was brief but full of emotions, and Ludwig knew Alfred would be hurting for a long time after he left this place. There was no guarantee another spell would send them back to this particular world. They would go back to their world, Arthur had said, because they were linked to it. The return spell could _only_ send them back where they came from. But another use of the initial spell could send them anywhere. In all likelihood, they could try a thousand times, a million, and they'd never end up back in this particular world again.

Alfred unwillingly parted from Matthew and backed his way into the circle. Arthur coughed and adjusted the paper with the spell on it. He gave them one last look, one last halfhearted smile. "We've enjoyed having you here. You saved us from destruction. You've helped us rebuild our world. And you didn't have to do any of it. Please, if there's one more thing you can do for us…Enjoy your lives. Go home and be with your loved ones. You deserve it. More than anything in the world, you deserve peace." A green eye flicked over to Ludwig momentarily, and he caught that same _glint_ again. What was Arthur trying to tell him? "Good luck to the both of you."

"Yeah, thanks for everything. If you ever need help and you find your way back to us, we'll take up arms in a heartbeat." The other Alfred added.

They both nodded solemnly.

"Goodbye, Alfred." Matt whispered.

Alfred bit his lip. "Bye, Mattie."

Ludwig said nothing more.

Arthur quickly and efficiently ran through the spell, words pouring from his lips. They could both feel the energy surging through the circle and into them. Ludwig grunted as Arthur sped up the pace of his reading. And then he hit the last line. And then he hit the last word.

And then Ludwig felt as if a cosmic hand had wrapped around him and threw it with all its might through time and space itself. The world disappeared around him. And there was nothing.

* * *

**Dro:** Sorry I lied, guys. One last chapter. No preview either. I'm sure we can all guess what happens, yeah?


	26. A Fuschia Finale

**Dro: **It's over! Finally! Another one down! (And another to start at some point, but not for a while because I have midterms when I come back...) Anyway, enjoy the last chapter, and don't forget to **review**! I want to hear your final thoughts on the story!

**Chapter Summary: **The end.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer:** Yes, because I've magically acquired the rights to APH. Poor college students totally have the money for that!

* * *

Alfred woke up to a ceiling. A very familiar ceiling. He'd mocked Arthur for having such a drab ceiling several times in the past, and he remembered very well the furious yelling that had ensued from the irritating Englishman. Alfred had always _hated_ this ceiling. Until now. He'd never been happier to see that damn ugly than he was right now. Because it meant they succeeded. They were home. They?

He turned his head to the left, panicked, and then turned it to the right, breathing a sigh of relief as he caught sight of the still sleeping Ludwig. They'd both made it back. He let his eyes slip shut and smiled. Home. The look on Matt's face crossed his mind, that sad face of parting, and he frowned. He was back in his true home now, but he'd left the place that had become a second one. Bittersweet. Their return wasn't supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be joyous. He was back! But just as when he'd first jumped dimensions, he'd left some important things behind.

Ludwig groaned and slapped a hand over his face, scared to open his eyes. "Alfred?"

"We made it." Alfred replied.

Ludwig let out a deep sigh. "Thank_ Gott_ for that. I'm just glad this is all over with."

"Yeah. Me too."

Neither of them moved to stand up.

Alfred was the first to comment on what they were both thinking. "It's going to be hard to get over this, isn't it?"

"If we even _can_."

"Optimistic as always, eh?"

"You expected anything less?"

Alfred chuckled dryly. "I guess not." He opened his mouth to add something but shut it as his ears caught the sound of rapid footsteps ascending Arthur's stairs. Both of them sat up simultaneously and locked eyes on the door just as Arthur burst through the threshold, mumbling to himself about "Stupid Francis and his stupid pranks! What's that bastard done to my house now? Blown out a window? I swear to God…" He trailed off, his green eyes finally meeting the forms of the two men sitting on his floor. His mouth hung open, uncomprehending.

No one said anything for several moments. Alfred wasn't sure what he should say first. Apologize for being gone so long? Tell Arthur he was okay? Ludwig didn't seem to be faring any better. He opened and closed his mouth over and over, no words making their way out of his throat. Alfred nearly jumped up and ran to Arthur when the man sank to his knees, his hand still clenching the doorknob. Finally, he managed to find his voice.

"A…Alfred?" Tears choked both his voice and eyes, and Alfred's name came out more like a disbelieving whimper.

"Yeah. It's me. I'm back." Alfred swallowed, a rush of emotions assaulting him. He'd just left another Arthur, but seeing his own again, seeing the one he'd left behind in the bud of a relationship…Oh _God_. He felt a tear slide down his cheek. The next thing he knew, Arthur was in arms, a loud, choking sob resounding throughout the room.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. I can't believe…I thought…I though you were…Everyone thought…I never thought I'd see you again!" He held Alfred tightly, and the two of them rocked back and forth.

Alfred was suddenly filled with regret that he hadn't been able to return sooner. He hugged Arthur back tightly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Forgive me. I'm so sorry."

"No. No. No. I'm not mad. Not at you." Arthur mumbled into his neck.

"Don't be mad at yourself, Arthur. It was my choice." His hand slipped into Arthur's hair, and he held the man against him. "And I'm fine. Both of us are. And we're back in one piece. It's all over."

Arthur clung to him tighter and cried. He _bawled_. He let out every pent up emotion that had been plaguing him for the last nine months. And Alfred silently let him. He rubbed the man's back and pressed his face into Arthur's hair and rocked him back and forth until the sobs slowly began to quiet. A few times, he flicked his eyes over to Ludwig, his flushed face telling Alfred he was quite embarrassed to witness such a private moment.

Finally, Arthur stopped crying, and Alfred released him. His red-ringed eyes aside, Arthur looked incredibly happy. "I…I can't believe you came back. I was so sure I'd never see you again…"

Alfred smiled. "Come on, Arthur. Since when I have ever let you suffer from a lack of my amazing presence?"

Arthur snorted. "True." He smiled softly. Then he seemed to suddenly realize that Ludwig was there for the first time. "Germany! Oh, you've…been there the entire time, haven't you?"

Ludwig nodded slowly.

"Ah…right. Well, this is embarrassing. Um…we…uh…we should probably make some phone calls. Everyone's been ready to officially declare you two dead for months now. It's just been me, Francis, Matthew, and Italy holding them back. Imagine their surprise." He chuckled, a hint of pain in his voice.

Alfred cringed. Arthur had, of course, had to tell everyone what had happened. He grimaced at the sheer number of people he _knew_ had probably _blamed_ Arthur for all this. And then he'd had to deal with all the ones who were convinced they were never coming back and the ones who had no doubt claimed Arthur was a liar and that the pair of them were already dead in some kind of accident and…He felt the urge to hug Arthur again.

"Call a world meeting." Ludwig said.

The two of them turned to face him. Arthur's mouth dropped open. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"What better way to end this confusion than to prove we're alive to the world?" Ludwig cocked an eyebrow. "Plus, we can rub it in their faces."

Alfred chuckled. "Good idea, man! Let's teach those asses a lesson!" He smirked at Arthur and winked.

Arthur just kept smiling.

Alfred couldn't help but think it suited him.

* * *

The first thing Arthur did was call Matthew and Feliciano and tell them they needed to rush over to London. Alfred and Ludwig had remained quiet, intent on their return being a happy surprise. Alfred felt a sense of anxiety overcome him when he thought of Matt. This Matt wasn't _that_ Matt, but for all Alfred knew, his brother in this world might also be in love with him. _That_ Matt had never told _that_ Alfred, so what if _his_ Matt had never told _him_? God, this was all so confusing!

They waited around Arthur's kitchen table for a good portion of the day. They'd called Matt first, and he'd hopped on the first plane to London. Feliciano had not been at home, and it had taken them a few hours to reach him. At this rate, they were set to arrive to within minutes of each other. Alfred sat in front of a long cold cup of coffee and tapped his fingers on the table. Arthur sat next to him, continually throwing him tentative glances as if he thought Alfred was liable to disappear right before his eyes. He probably did. He'd probably had nightmares of that exact scenario.

"Arthur, can I talk to you for a second?"

Arthur perked up, sending him a questioning gaze.

"Alone?"

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but Ludwig coughed. "I need some air. I'll be out on the porch." He pushed back his chair and hurried off, the front door slamming behind a few seconds later. Alfred reminded himself to thank the man later for that. He pushed his own chair back and rose to his feet, taking a deep breath. Arthur mimicked him, biting his lip nervously.

"What is this about, Alfred?"

Alfred clenched his eyes shut briefly. _Now or never_. Arthur's hand landed on his arm. And that was it. He grabbed Arthur's arm and swung the man around, slamming him into his refrigerator. Arthur's eyes went wide, and he stuttered. "A-Alfred? What are you—?"

Alfred crashed their lips together, kissing Arthur with every pent up emotion he'd had bottled up inside of him for the past nine months. After a few stunned seconds, Arthur relaxed into the kiss, his eyes slipping shut and arms wrapping around Alfred's neck. He pulled their lips apart and slammed them together again and again, nibbling on Arthur's bottom lip. The man groaned softly.

"So…long…" He whispered between kisses. "You…just…don't know…Arthur."

Arthur vigorously kissed him back. "I do…I truly do." He pulled Alfred against them, their bodies meeting at every contour. Their desperate kisses continued, both men releasing every painful feeling that had been building up inside of them for nearly a year. Tongues met and fought and slid wetly against the other's, battling passionately instead of the angry spitting of words they could've been having at this point. Alfred much preferred _this._ How long had he been imagining this? How long he wanted to hold Arthur this way?

Too long.

Lips met the soft skin of an exposed neck, and Arthur sighed lovingly as Alfred trailed down it, unbuttoning the top few buttons of Arthur's shirt along the way. He latched onto the curve of Arthur's neck and sucked, Arthur letting out a low moan. Hands grabbed at his shirt, clenching the fabric. Hips brushed together, and both men gasped. _Oh God, Arthur! I want this so bad!_

He released Arthur's neck with a wet pop and brushed his lips against Arthur's ear. "I love you."

Arthur stiffened. "You…you mean that?"

"So much. God, I mean it so much. The last nine months…I…finally can't deny it anymore. I've been deluding myself. I'm so fucking in love with you it hurts."

"A-Alfred…" The man embraced him again. "Oh God, Alfred! I thought…I thought I'd never hear you say that to me. I've had feelings for you for so long now…"

"Do you love me, Arthur?"

"Yes. Oh God, yes!"

Alfred pulled away from him, their eyes meeting again. The adoration in Arthur's eyes broke any sort of resistance or reservation he'd ever thought of having. They met in the middle for one last passionate kiss. Arthur's hands cupped his cheeks gently as he pulled away, thumbs stroking softly. Alfred smiled at him, and Arthur smiled back. _Finally_. They both thought. _Finally._

"Ahem." Ludwig coughed.

They broke apart, blushing, and Alfred turned to face the red-faced Germany. "Sorry. Uh…"

He realized Ludwig's eyes were wide, the man motioning to the door. "Canada is approaching."

Alfred sucked in a breath, his anxiety suddenly returning ten fold. Arthur fixed up his shirt and took a deep breath. "How do think he'll react, Alfred?"

Alfred shook his head. "Only one way to find out." He marched with deliberate steps toward the door, trying to mask his nerves. He could see Matt's silhouetted on the other side, reflected on the screen door by the porch light. Just as the shadow's hand reached out to press the doorbell, Alfred wrapped his fingers around the handle, pushed the button, and pulled the door open.

Matt paused and looked up from the doorbell, eyes going wide as he caught the sight in front of him. Neither bother spoke, Matt blinking several times, as if he was sure he was looking at a illusion or had suddenly fallen into a lucid dream. A shaking hand rose up, making a slow, tentative path toward Alfred's face. The moment the fingers brushed his cheek, Matt cried out and leapt at him, crushing him a tight embrace. He stumbled back, wrapping his arms around his whimpering brother.

"Al. Oh God, Al! It's you! It's really you!"

He whispered softly into Matt's ear. "Yeah. It's me, Matt. It's me. I'm back." He hugged his brother tightly, pressing his face into Matt's shoulder, trying his best not to be reminded of the Matt he'd left behind.

* * *

"_So you two have been together, then?" The other him accused._

_Alfred looked away._

"_Come on, why put yourself through this torture? You both knew that you'd be leaving!"_

"_That doesn't matter, Alfred! I love him!" Matt shouted._

"_Matt! Think about this!"_

"_I have!"_

"_Matt, how can you love him? He's me!"_

"_And I loved _you _too_!_ I did for years! You're just too fucking blind to even notice! Every advance I've ever made on you, you just brushed me off! Do you know how much that hurt to have you ignore me like that? Like I was insignificant and not worth your attention? I started to resent you! And then _he_ showed up. And _he_ paid attention! And _he_ cared! So I fell in love with him instead!"_

_The other Alfred look shocked. "Matt…I…never…Oh God, Matt, I never knew!"_

"_Just like I said. Blind!"_

"_Matt…I'm so sorry…"_

_Matt refused to look him in the eye. The other Alfred hesitantly met his double's gaze. "I'm sorry for…"_

"_It's okay…"_

_

* * *

_

They all settled down in the living room, waiting for Feliciano to arrive. Matt clung to him on one side and Arthur on the other. He was uncomfortable enough being squished between the two of them. He was super uncomfortable whenever he acknowledged his myriad of confused feelings. Which was every five seconds or so. Thus, he kept fidgeting in his seat. Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Bathroom break." He hopped up before anyone could say anything and dashed up the stairs, hoping no one would say anything about there also being a bathroom _downstairs_. He actually _did_ head to the bathroom, but after he flicked on the light, he turned the sink on and splashed his face with cold water, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down. He tried his best to convince himself that this Matt had no romantic feelings for him, that he needed to focus on Arthur for romance and Matt for brotherly love. This would all work out. This would _all_ work out.

"Are you all right?"

He jumped at the sound of Matt's voice. His brother, eyebrows furrowed, crossed the threshold and softly closed the bathroom door behind him. "What's going on with you, Al? You've been acting really uncomfortable around Arthur and me."

Alfred took a step back. He didn't want to be in a cramped space with Matt. That was a _bad_ idea. But Matt wasn't deterred by his retreat. He took another step forward. "Al, tell me what's going on."

Just like Matt. He would never just _let things go_. "Uh…it's not like that, Matt. I'm just…there were some _things_ that happened in the other world that…uh…it's just not something I want to talk about."

* * *

"_Matt…please forgive me."_

"_One day, maybe I'll be able to." His brother's voice was cold. "Until then, you'll just have to deal with the consequences." He turned and left the room, resolved._

_Both Alfreds stood there stunned. The other him turned to face him. "I'm sorry for everything. I've…made a grave mistake, it seems. And I've lost something important to me."_

_Alfred put a hand on his shoulder. "You haven't lost him. You can make him mad all you want, you can hurt him at every turn…but Matt will never leave you for good. He's just not that kind of person."_

"_But I don't want to keep hurting him…"_

"_Then don't."_

_The other Alfred ran his hands through his hair. "It hurts. I hurt him and it hurts so bad to see it on his face."_

"_If you want it to stop, then you'll have to make it up to him."_

"_How?"_

_Alfred smiled sadly. "That's for him to tell you."_

_The other him sighed, holding out a hand. "I'm sorry. Really. For everything."_

"_Don't be. We all make mistakes." He smiled wider and took the man's offered hand. "What matters is that we correct them."_

_

* * *

_

Matt wouldn't give up the fight. He blocked the door, refusing to let Alfred escape as he advanced on his older brother. Matt was starting to get awkwardly close, and Alfred felt himself start to blush. _Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it._ But all he could picture was the other Matt, leaning in to kiss him. _Shit_. His brother stood inches away from him, eyes narrow and scrutinizing.

"I don't know what happened to you over there, but you're not leaving this room until you tell me why you're acting this way." Matt made his final mistake. He tilted his head to the side.

Alfred's hands tangled themselves in his brother's soft hair and pulled him into a wet, searing kiss. He switched their positions, pressing the rigid, wide-eyed Matt into the wall as he continued his assault, lips smacking together. Matt's face went beet red, his eyelids twitching. His lips parted slightly, and Alfred plunged his tongue in, pressing it against Matt's stiff one and sliding it along his gums. _So good._ _God, it's exactly the same_. _The same. The same as…_

He tore himself away from Matt, stumbling back against the door as he slapped a hand over his mouth. Matt stayed motionless against the wall, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. Alfred struggled to find the words. _Shit! Oh, shit! I'm in trouble now!_

"A-Al…"

He turned his head away, refusing to look Matt in the eye.

"W-why did…do you…I thought…Arthur…"

"I love Arthur." He mumbled, staring blankly at the wall.

"Then why did you…"

Alfred finally broke down. "There was another you there."

"Huh?"

"The you…the parallel you…he was in love with me…the parallel me and the parallel Arthur were together…and you were silently suffering in the background because the other me wouldn't pay attention to you. And I just…I had no Arthur there…and you were there…and we…and I….Shit! I'm so fucking stupid." He covered his face in his hands, ready and waiting for Matt to yell at him.

Somehow, some way, Matthew understood what he was talking about. "So, this other me was in love with you?" Matt was still blushing. "I see…"

Horror ran through Alfred's veins. "Matt…oh God…please tell me you don't…I'll never forgive myself…"

Matt looked up at him, wide-eyed. "No! I don't…I don't love you like that. In fact, I'd never really thought about it before. I mean, I always thought you were attractive, but I've never been _in love_ with you like that."

Relief washed over him. "Oh, thank god. I was sure for a second there…"

Matthew crawled over to him and sat next to him. "So you have feelings for this other me?"

Alfred nodded dumbly.

"But you're in love with Arthur more?"

He nodded again.

Matt smiled, caring and understanding like he'd always been. "You need to tell him about that, you know? It'll be worse if you lie."

"I know."

"But you can keep this kiss a secret it you want." He blushed again. "I can't say I was expecting that."

"I'm sorry." He said quickly.

Matt chuckled. "Don't be. It wasn't _bad_." He snickered.

"Don't make fun of me. I'm struggling here!" He crossed his arms and pouting.

Matt hugged him. "I can see that." He laughed. He tightened his hold. "It'll be _okay_, Al. I think we all just need to sit down and have a nice, long talk about everything that happened in this other world."

Alfred cringed at the thought but nodded anyway. "You're probably right."

They stayed like that for several minutes when a though suddenly struck Alfred. "So, Matt, if it's not me you love, then are you with somebody? You never talk about your love life with me."

"Right. Because you always tell me about yours."

"Well, you know now, so…"

Matt sighed. "I kind of…don't want to tell you. I'm afraid you might get mad."

And then Alfred knew.

"Ivan." He muttered through tight lips.

Matt stiffened. "How did you know?"

Alfred banged his head against the door, groaning. "Why? Why God, why?"

"Al? Al, what's wrong?"

* * *

He fidgeted on the couch across from Arthur. The brothers were taking a long time, and Ludwig wasn't sure he wanted to know what they were up to. He avoided Arthur's gaze like the plague, the man's green eyes boring into him with a look that hissed "Something's going on, and you know what it is!" Oh, he knew alright, but he certainly wasn't going to say anything about it.

The doorbell rang.

Ludwig froze.

Arthur stared. "I believe that's for you."

Nervously, he rose to his feet, unsure if he was ready to face this or not. He let his feet take him to the door of their own volition, his hand reaching out by itself to pull open the door. Feliciano stood on the other side, hands full of a box that was no doubt filled with pasta, eyes locked onto the starry sky. He craned his neck to look back at Ludwig as the door creaked open.

Their eyes met.

"L-Ludwig…?"

He stepped out onto the porch, grabbed the box, sat it on the ground, and pulled Feliciano into a deep kiss. He kissed the man with everything he had, with everything he'd ever told him and everything he hadn't, every single bit of emotion he could grasp from every crevice in his heart. When he pulled away, he embraced Feliciano tightly. Feliciano was limp, stunned, and silent, so unlike his normal self. _Say something to me, Feliciano. Anything._

"Ludwig. Is it really you?" He whispered, a hint of tears in his voice.

"Yes. It's me."

He sobbed. "Ludwig!" His arms wrapped tightly around the German man. "Ve! You're back! You're back! You're back! Everyone said you'd never come back, but I wouldn't believe them!"

"Thank you for having faith in me."

Feliciano cried into his shoulder. "Ludwig!"

"Did you bring pasta, Feliciano?"

"Yes! Do you want some?" He sniffled.

"I would indeed. I've missed your cooking."

"Ve!" He pulled away, smiling through his tear-stained cheeks. "I'll get it ready right now!"

Ludwig smiled back. _My Feliciano. It's been so long since I've seen that face. Those eyes unmarred by murder. That smiled untouched by tragedy. _Gott_, how I've missed it! _

"I'd like that."

* * *

He stood in front of the world, a world curious to hear all it could of another. Many were skeptical about the true nature of his absence, believing the whole "parallel world" thing to be but a lie. Some were suspicious, thinking he had hidden motives. Alfred took a breath before he started speaking, the papers shaking in his hands. He'd mostly recovered from his injuries now, but whenever he got nervous, the slight shaking in his fingers got far worse and much more noticeable. He let the papers rest on the podium.

Arthur stood on one side of him, Matthew on the other. He'd sat them down the night before and told them _everything_. From his arrival to his departure. From Ivan's tyranny to his death by Alfred's hands. From the other Alfred's relationship with the other Arthur to his own relationship with the other Matt. Arthur had been angry, and Alfred hadn't expected any less. His cheek still stung, but at least Arthur had verbally forgiven him. For a few hours, the man had barred himself in his room, convinced that Alfred and Matthew were secretly together. Somehow, Matt had managed to talk Arthur out of his anger and bring him back to reason. Just like Matt. He was so thankful for Matt.

Now if only Ludwig was here. He couldn't describe the parts that only Ludwig had been there for. Sure, he _knew_ them, he'd been told, but he didn't know them nearly as well as Ludwig. He felt the story would be weaker without Ludwig here, but the man was uncharacteristically late. As he'd told Alfred he would be. He was out having lunch with Feliciano (and for some reason, Romano too). He'd said he'd be about ten minutes late. Alfred wondered if he could stall them until then.

The doors wrenched open to reveal a familiar hulking Russia. Alfred froze. It was the first time he'd seen Ivan since…God, since he'd put a bullet through the man's head. He coughed nervously. Ivan paused, eying him suspiciously. The man took a seat close to the podium, scrutinizing Alfred.

"Come on then, America. We are all waiting to here your big tale of 'parallel worlds.' We all do not want to be kept waiting, da?" Ivan smiled at him, a glint of harsh accusation in his eyes.

Oh, this was going to _suck._

_

* * *

_

Lovino grumbled. Why had his _stupid_ _fratello_ invited him along to lunch with that _stupid_ potato bastard? The man had been missing for nearly a year, and yet his brother had just picked up their relationship right where it had left off. He huffed as he followed them past a fruit stand. The odd pair, tall, blond German and small, brunette Italian, filed into the tiny café together. Lovino lingered outside, rolling his eyes. He eyed a box of green apples and shuffled over to them, picking one up. He couldn't help but wonder if this would be a repeat of the last episode with an apple. His brother had been torn up over that stupid potato eater for months, and he hadn't been able to do a damn thing to console him. _Fuck that! That stupid potato bastard couldn't even come back in damn time. How can my brother like him so much? _He scoffed, rubbing the apple on his shirt until it shined.

He looked up, letting his eyes fall into line with the street across from him. They latched onto a familiar figure. He froze. His brother stood beneath a canopied doorway, hands tucked inside the pockets of a black coat, a beret resting on his hair, smiling back at him softly. His…brother…? But hadn't his brother just gone inside the café _behind_—?

A car horn rang loudly as a bus blew by him down the street, the apple falling from his startled hands and bouncing to the ground. He scrambled for it, grabbing it frantically before straightening himself to look at his brother again. He felt the blood drain from his face.

The doorway was empty.

His brother was gone.

"Ve, Lovino! Are you coming in?"

Lovino slowly turned around, eyelids aching at how far Lovino stretched them wide, and caught sight of his confused brother poking his head out of the door of the café. He glanced at the apple in his hand and hesitantly reached out, putting it back in the exact place he'd taken it from. Then he scuttled inside behind his brother, letting the tinted windows hide the frightening world outside.

_I am never touching an apple again._

_

* * *

_

**Dro:** My lips are sealed. -snickers-_  
_


	27. A Saffron Sequel Poll

**Dro:** Okay, okay! So I had a lot of people asking for a sequel. Originally, I hadn't even thought about it, but then I did...

* * *

**Here's the deal:**

**1.) **I _can_ write a sequel. I have a storyline for a sequel.

**2.) **But, there are a few differences.

- First, the sequel probably won't focus too much on GerIta.

- The story I have now focuses on USUK and USUK and a mix match of US's and UK's (think about it) and both Canadas, as well as regular world Russia.

- China will be a more prominent character.

- Parallel Italy will make some appearances.

- There will be a lot of inter-dimensional travel.

- Also, there will be more magic.

- There's actually _more_ relationship drama in this plot.

- And somehow, I think there might be more danger...

**3.) **If that sounds interesting to you, and you _really_ want a sequel, then there's a **poll in my profile. **Go vote it in. It's at the top. I'll leave it open for a couple weeks and then make a decision. Then I'll come back here and let you know, okay?

* * *

**Dro:** Anyway, have at it. It's your decision at this point. I can write it if you want, but it you don't, that's fine too. =)


	28. Sequel Announcement!

**Dro: **Special announcement! The **sequel **has been posted! I repeat, the **sequel** has started! To find it, simply go to my profile and find **In the Shadow of Wonderland**.

* * *

**Some Quick Info:**

Main Pairings So far : (Wow, that's a lot of main pairings...)

- US x UK

- Parallel! US x Parallel! UK

- Parallel! US x UK

- US x Parallel! UK

- Russia x Canada

- US x Parallel! Canada

- Russia x Parallel! Canada

- Germany x Italy

- Germany x Parallel! Italy

Minor Pairings So far:

- Parallel! Prussia x Austria

- Parallel! Spain x Parallel! Romano

- Spain x Romano

- Spain x Parallel! Romano

- Parallel! Spain x Romano

That's all for now. For now...Honestly, I'm not sure how many more I could possibly fit in there. There's so many mix-match pairings!

* * *

**Dro: **So, you requested it, and I delivered. There was really no guessing involved when it came to the poll. The final numbers were **114** Yes and **6** No. -chuckles- Well, that was a hard decision, wasn't it? Anyway, go read and review! See you over there, yeah?


End file.
